r 


"WON'T  You  COME  IN?" 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 

MAYA  THE  BEE 


BY 

WALDEMAR  BONSELS 


ILLUSTRATED 
BY 

HOMER  Boss 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  SELTZER 
1922 


COPYRIGHT.    1922.    BY 
THOMAS    SELTZER,    INC. 


All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  the  United  Staffs  of  America 


The  Translation  of  this  book  was  made  by 
ADELE  SZOLD  SELTZER 

The  Poems  were  done  into  English  by 
ARTHUR  GUITERMAN 


2234617 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEE 

I.  FIRST  FLIGHT    .....  i 

II.  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ROSE      .  14 

III.  THE  LAKE  ......  25 

IV.  EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE      ...  43 
V.  THE  ACROBAT  .....  60 

VI.  PUCK      .......  72 

VII.  IN  THE  TOILS   .....  87 

VIII.  'THE  BUG  AND  THE  BUTTERFLY  104 

IX.  THE  LOST  LEG  .....  113 

X.  THE  WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT  133 

XI.  WITH  THE  SPRITE  .     .     .     .  153 

XII.  ALOIS,  LADYBIRD  AND  POET    .  163 

XIII.  THE  FORTRESS  .....  172 

XIV.  THE  SENTINEL       ....  182 
XV.  THE  WARNING       ....  194 

XVI.  THE  BATTLE      .....  204 

XVII.  THE  QUEEN'S  FRIEND       .     .  218 


LIST  OF  COLORED  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Won't  you  come  in  ?"     .      .     .     .      .     FRONTISPIECE 

FACING  PAGE 

Maya  lifted  her  wings,  buzzed  farewell  to  the  lake, 

and  flew  inland   ..........       42 

A  human  being  in  miniature  was  coming  up  out  of 

the  iris .      .      .      146 

The  Queen  came  without  her  court,  attended  only 

by  her  aide  and  two  ladies-in-waiting     .     .      .      200 


CHAPTER  I 

FIRST   FLIGHT 


1 


HE  elderly  lady-bee  who  helped  the 
baby-bee  Maya  when  she  awoke  to 
life  and  slipped  from  her  cell  was 
called  Cassandra  and  commanded  great  re- 
spect in  the  hive.  Those  were  exciting  days. 
A  rebellion  had  broken  out  in  the  nation  of 
bees,  which  the  queen  was  unable  to  suppress. 
While  the  experienced  Cassandra  wiped 
Maya's  large  bright  eyes  and  tried  as  best  she 
could  to  arrange  her  delicate  wings,  the  big 
hive  hummed  and  buzzed  like  a  threatening 
thunderstorm,  and  the  baby-bee  found  it  very 
warm  and  said  so  to  her  companion. 

Cassandra  looked  about  troubled,  without 


2  MAYA  THE  BEE 

replying.  It  astonished  her  that  the  child  so 
soon  found  something  to  criticize.  But  really 
the  child  was  right:  the  heat  and  the  pushing 
and  crowding  were  almost  unbearable.  Maya 
saw  an  endless  succession  of  bees  go  by  in 
such  swarming  haste  that  sometimes  one 
climbed  up  and  over  another,  or  several  rolled 
past  together  clotted  in  a  ball. 

Once  the  queen-bee  approached.  Cassan- 
dra and  Maya  were  jostled  aside.  A  drone, 
a  friendly  young  fellow  of  immaculate  ap- 
pearance, came  to  their  assistance.  He 
nodded  to  Maya  and  stroked  the  shining  hairs 
on  his  breast  rather  nervously  with  his  fore- 
leg. (The  bees  use  their  forelegs  as  arms  and 
hands.) 

"The  crash  will  come,"  he  said  to  Cassan- 
dra. "The  revolutionists  will  leave  the  city. 
A  new  queen  has  already  been  proclaimed." 

Cassandra  scarcely  noticed  him.  She  did 
not  even  thank  him  for  his  help,  and  Maya 
felt  keenly  conscious  that  the  old  lady  was  not 
a  bit  nice  to  the  young  gentleman.  The  child 
was  a  little  afraid  to  ask  questions,  the  im- 
pressions were  coming  so  thick  and  fast;  they 


FIRST  FLIGHT  3 

threatened  to  overwhelm  her.  The  general 
excitement  got  into  her  blood,  and  she  set  up 
a  fine,  distinct  buzzing. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said  Cassan- 
dra. "Isn't  there  noise  enough  as  it  is?" 

Maya  subsided  at  once,  and  looked  at  Cas- 
sandra questioningly. 

"Come  here,  child,  we'll  see  if  we  cannot 
quiet  down  a  bit."  Cassandra  took  Maya  by 
her  gleaming  wings,  which  were  still  soft  and 
new  and  marvelously  transparent,  and  shoved 
her  into  an  almost  deserted  corner  beside  a 
few  honeycombs  rilled  with  honey. 

Maya  stood  still  and  held  on  to  one  of  the 
cells. 

"It  smells  delicious  here,"  she  observed. 

Her  remark  seemed  to  fluster  the  old  lady 
again. 

"You  must  learn  to  wait,  child,"  she  replied. 
"I  have  brought  up  several  hundred  young 
bees  this  spring  and  given  them  lessons  for 
their  first  flight,  but  I  haven't  come  across 
another  one  that  was  as  pert  and  forward  as 
you  are.  You  seem  to  be  an  exceptional 


nature." 


4  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Maya  blushed  and  stuck  the  two  dainty  fin- 
gers of  her  hand  in  her  mouth. 

"Exceptional  nature — what  is  an  excep- 
tional nature?"  she  asked  shyly. 

"Oh,  that's  not  nice,"  cried  Cassandra,  re- 
ferring not  to  Maya's  question,  which  she  had 
scarcely  heeded,  but  to  the  child's  sticking  her 
fingers  in  her  mouth.  "Now,  listen.  Listen 
very  carefully  to  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you. 
I  can  devote  only  a  short  time  to  you.  Other 
baby-bees  have  already  slipped  out,  and  the 
only  helper  I  have  on  this  floor  is  Turka,  and 
Turka  is  dreadfully  overworked  and  for  the 
last  few  days  has  been  complaining  of  a  buzz- 
ing in  her  ears.  Sit  down  here." 

Maya  obeyed,  with  great  brown  eyes  fas- 
tened on  her  teacher. 

"The  first  rule  that  a  young  bee  must  learn," 
said  Cassandra,  and  sighed,  "is  that  every  bee, 
in  whatever  it  thinks  and  does,  must  be  like 
the  other  bees  and  must  always  have  the  good 
of  all  in  mind.  In  our  order  of  society,  which 
we  have  held  to  be  the  right  one  from  time 
immemorial  and  which  couldn't  have  been 
better  preserved  than  it  has  been,  this  rule  is 


FIRST  FLIGHT  5 

the  one  fundamental  basis  for  the  well-being 
of  the  state.  To-morrow  you  will  fly  out 
of  the  hive,  an  older  bee  will  accompany  you. 
At  first  you  will  be  allowed  to  fly  only  short 
stretches  and  you  will  have  to  observe  every- 
thing, very  carefully,  so  that  you  can  find 
your  way  back  home  again.  Your  companion 
will  show  you  the  hundred  flowers  and  blos- 
soms that  yield  the  best  nectar.  You'll  have 
to  learn  them  by  heart.  This  is  something  no 
bee  can  escape  doing. — Here,  you  may  as 
well  learn  the  first  line  right  away — clover 
and  honeysuckle.  Repeat  it.  Say  'clover  and 
honeysuckle.' ' 

"I  can't,"  said  little  Maya.  "It's  awfully 
hard.  I'll  see  the  flowers  later  anyway." 

Cassandra  opened  her  old  eyes  wide  and 
shook  her  head. 

"You'll  come  to  a  bad  end,"  she  sighed.  "I 
can  foresee  that  already." 

"Am  I  supposed  later  on  to  gather  nectar  all 
day  long?"  asked  Maya. 

Cassandra  fetched  a  deep  sigh  and  gazed 
at  the  baby-bee  seriously  and  sadly.  She 
seemed  to  be  thinking  of  her  own  toilsome 


6  MAYA  THE  BEE 

life — toil  from  beginning  to  end,  nothing 
but  toil.  Then  she  spoke  in  a  changed 
voice,  with  a  loving  look  in  her  eyes  for  the 
child. 

"My  dear  little  Maya,  there  will  be  other 
things  in  your  life — the  sunshine,  lofty  green 
trees,  flowery  heaths,  lakes  of  silver,  rushing, 
glistening  waterways,  the  heavens  blue  and 
radiant,  and  perhaps  even  human  beings,  the 
highest  and  most  perfect  of  Nature's  crea- 
tions. Because  of  all  these  glories  your  work 
will  become  a  joy.  Just  think — all  that  lies 
ahead  of  you,  dear  heart.  You  have  good 
reason  to  be  happy." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  said  Maya,  "that's  what  I 
want  to  be." 

Cassandra  smiled  kindly.  In  that  instant — 
why,  she  did  not  know — she  conceived  a  pe- 
culiar affection  for  the  little  bee,  such  as  she 
could  not  recall  ever  having  felt  for  any  child- 
bee  before.  And  that,  probably,  is  how  it 
came  about  that  she  told  Maya  more  than 
a  bee  usually  hears  on  the  first  day  of  its  life. 
She  gave  her  various  special  bits  of  advice, 
warned  her  against  the  dangers  of  the  wicked 


FIRST  FLIGHT  7 

world,  and  named  the  bees'  most  dangerous 
enemies.  At  the  end  she  spoke  long  of  human 
beings,  and  implanted  the  first  love  for  them 
in  the  child's  heart  and  the  germ  of  a  great 
longing  to  know  them. 

"Be  polite  and  agreeable  to  every  insect  you 
meet,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "then  you  will 
learn  more  from  them  than  I  have  told  you 
to-day.  But  beware  of  the  wasps  and  hornets. 
The  hornets  are  our  most  formidable  enemy, 
and  the  wickedest,  and  the  wasps  are  a  use- 
less tribe  of  thieves,  without  home  or  religion. 
We  are  a  stronger,  more  powerful  nation, 
while  they  steal  and  murder  wherever  they 
can.  You  may  use  your  sting  upon  insects, 
to  defend  yourself  and  inspire  respect,  but  if 
you  insert  it  in  a  warm-blooded  animal,  espe- 
cially a  human  being,  you  will  die,  because  it 
will  remain  sticking  in  the  skin  and  will  break 
off.  So  do  not  sting  warm-blooded  creatures 
except  in  dire  need,  and  then  do  it  without 
flinching  or  fear  of  death.  For  it  is  to  our 
courage  as  well  as  our  wisdom  that  we 
bees  owe  the  universal  respect  and  esteem  in 
which  we  are  held.  And  now  good-by,  Maya 


8  MAYA  THE  BEE 

dear.  Good  luck  to  you.  Be  faithful  to  your 
people  and  your  queen." 

The  little  bee  nodded  yes,  and  returned  her 
old  monitor's  kiss  and  embrace.  She  went  to 
bed  in  a  flutter  of  secret  joy  and  excitement 
and  could  scarcely  fall  asleep  from  curiosity. 
For  the  next  day  she  was  to  know  the  great, 
wide  world,  the  sun,  the  sky  and  the 
flowers. 

Meanwhile  the  bee-city  had  quieted  down. 
A  large  part  of  the  younger  bees  had  now  left 
the  kingdom  to  found  a  new  city;  but  for  a 
long  time  the  droning  of  the  great  swarm 
could  be  heard  outside  in  the  sunlight.  It 
was  not  from  arrogance  or  evil  intent  against 
the  queen  that  these  had  quitted;  it  was  be- 
cause the  population  had  grown  to  such  a 
size  that  there  was  no  longer  room  for  all 
the  inhabitants,  and  it  was  impossible  to  store  a 
sufficient  food-supply  of  honey  to  feed  them  all 
over  the  winter.  You  see,  according  to  a  gov- 
ernment treaty  of  long  standing,  a  large  part  of 
the  honey  gathered  in  summer  had  to  be 
delivered  up  to  human  beings,  who  in  return 
assured  the  welfare  of  the  bee-state,  provided 


FIRST  FLIGHT  9 

for  the  peace  and  safety  of  the  bees,  and  gave 
them  shelter  against  the  cold  in  winter. 

"The  sun  has  risen!" 

The  joyous  call  sounding  in  Maya's  ears 
awoke  her  out  of  sleep  the  next  morning.  She 
jumped  up  and  joined  a  lady  working-bee. 

"Delighted,"  said  the  lady  cordially.  "You 
may  fly  with  me." 

At  the  gate,  where  there  was  a  great  pushing 
and  crowding,  they  were  held  up  by  the  senti- 
nels, one  of  whom  gave  Maya  the  password 
without  which  no  bee  was  admitted  into  the 
city. 

"Be  sure  to  remember  it,"  he  said,  "and 
good  luck  to  you." 

Outside  the  city  gates,  a  flood  of  sunlight 
assailed  the  little  bee,  a  brilliance  of  green 
and  gold,  so  rich  and  warm  and  resplendent 
that  she  had  to  close  her  eyes,  not  knowing 
what  to  say  or  do  from  sheer  delight. 

"Magnificent!  It  really  is,"  she  said  to  her 
companion.  "Do  we  fly  into  that?" 

"Right  ahead!"  answered  the  lady-bee. 

Maya  raised  her  little  head  and  moved  her 
pretty  new  wings.  Suddenly  she  felt  the 


io  MAYA  THE  BEE 

flying-board  on  which  she  had  been  sitting  sink 
down,  while  the  ground  seemed  to  be  gliding 
away  behind,  and  the  large  green  domes  of  the 
tree-tops  seemed  to  be  coming  toward  her. 

Her  eyes  sparkled,  her  heart  rejoiced. 

"I  am  flying,"  she  cried.  "It  cannot  be  any- 
thing else.  What  I  am  doing  must  be  flying. 
Why,  it's  splendid,  perfectly  splendid!" 

"Yes,  you're  flying,"  said  the  lady-bee,  who 
had  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  the  child. 
"Those  are  linden-trees,  those  toward  which 
we  are  flying,  the  lindens  in  our  castle  park. 
You  can  always  tell  where  our  city  is  by  those 
lindens.  But  you're  flying  so  fast,  Maya." 

"  Fast?"  said  Maya.  "How  can  one  fly 
fast  enough?  Oh,  how  sweet  the  sunshine 
smells!" 

"No,"  replied  her  companion,  who  was 
rather  out  of  breath,  "it's  not  the  sunshine,  it's 
the  flowers  that  smell. — But  please,  don't  go 
so  fast,  else  I'll  drop  behind.  Besides,  at 
this  pace  you  won't  observe  things  and  be  able 
to  find  your  way  back." 

But  little  Maya  transported  by  the  sun- 
shine and  the  joy  of  living,  did  not  hear. 


FIRST  FLIGHT  n 

She  felt  as  though  she  were  darting  like  an 
arrow  through  a  green-shimmering  sea  of 
light,  to  greater  and  greater  splendor.  The 
bright  flowers  seemed  to  call  to  her,  the  still, 
sunlit  distances  lured  her  on,  and  the  blue  sky 
blessed  her  joyous  young  flight. 

"Never  again  will  it  be  as  beautiful  as  it  is 
to-day,"  she  thought.  "I  cant  turn  back.  I 
can't  think  of  anything  except  the  sun." 

Beneath  her  the  gay  pictures  kept  changing, 
the  peaceful  landscape  slid  by  slowly,  in  broad 
stretches. 

"The  sun  must  be  all  of  gold,"  thought  the 
baby-bee. 

Coming  to  a  large  garden,  which  seemed  to 
rest  in  blossoming  clouds  of  cherry-tree,  haw- 
thorn, and  lilacs,  she  let  herself  down  to  earth, 
dead-tired,  and  dropped  in  a  bed  of  red  tulips, 
where  she  held  on  to  one  of  the  big  flowers. 
With  a  great  sigh  of  bliss  she  pressed  herself 
against  the  blossom-wall  and  looked  up  to  the 
deep  blue  of  the  sky  through  the  gleaming 
edges  of  the  flowers. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful  it  is  out  here  in  the  great 
world,  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful  than 


12  MAYA  THE  BEE 

in  the  dark  hive.  I'll  never  go  back  there 
again  to  carry  honey  or  make  wax.  No, 
indeed,  I'll  never  do  that.  I  want  to  see  and 
know  the  world  in  bloom.  I  am  not  like  the 
other  bees,  my  heart  is  meant  for  pleasure  and 
surprises,  experiences  and  adventures.  I  will 
not  be  afraid  of  any  dangers.  Haven't  I  got 
strength  and  courage  and  a  sting?" 

She  laughed,  bubbling  over  with  delight, 
and  took  a  deep  draught  of  nectar  out  of  the 
flower  of  the  tulip. 

"Grand,"  she  thought.  "It's  glorious  to  be 
alive." 

Ah,  if  little  Maya  had  had  an  inkling  of  the 
many  dangers  and  hardships  that  lay  ahead  of 
her,  she  would  certainly  have  thought  twice. 
But  never  dreaming  of  such  things,  she  stuck 
to  her  resolve. 

Soon  tiredness  overcame  her,  and  she  fell 
asleep.  When  she  awoke,  the  sun  was  gone, 
twilight  lay  upon  the  land.  A  bit  of  alarm, 
after  all.  Maya's  heart  went  a  little  faster. 
Hesitatingly  she  crept  out  of  the  flower,  which 
was  about  to  close  up  for  the  night,  and  hid 
herself  away  under  a  leaf  high  up  in  the  top 


FIRST  FLIGHT  13 

of  an  old  tree,  where  she  went  to  sleep,  think- 
ing in  the  utmost  confidence : 

"I'm  not  afraid.  I  won't  be  afraid  right  at 
the  very  start.  The  sun  is  coming  round 
again;  that's  certain;  Cassandra  said  so.  The 
thing  to  do  is  to  go  to  sleep  quietly  and  sleep 
well." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ROSE 

BY  the  time  Maya  awoke,  it  was  full 
daylight.    She  felt  a  little  chilly  under 
her  big  green  leaf,  and  stiff  in  her 
limbs,  so  that  her  first  movements  were  slow 
and  clumsy.    Clinging  to  a  vein  of  the  leaf  she 
let  her  wings  quiver  and  vibrate,  to  limber 
them  up   and  shake  off  the  dust;   then  she 
smoothed  her  fair  hair,  wiped  her  large  eyes 
clean,  and  crept,  warily,  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  leaf,  where  she  paused  and  looked  around. 
The  glory  and  the  glow  of  the  morning  sun 
were  dazzling.    Though  Maya's  resting-place 
still  lay  in  cet>l  shadow,  the  leaves  overhead 
shone  like  green  gold. 

u 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ROSE        15 

"Oh,  you  glorious  world,"  thought  the  little 
bee. 

Slowly,  one  by  one,  the  experiences  of  the 
previous  day  came  back  to  her — all  the 
beauties  she  had  seen  and  all  the  risks  she  had 
run.  She  remained  firm  in  her  resolve  not  to 
return  to  the  hive.  To  be  sure,  when  she 
thought  of  Cassandra,  her  heart  beat  fast, 
though  it  was  not  very  likely  that  Cassandra 
would  ever  find  her. — No,  no,  to  her  there  was 
no  joy  in  forever  having  to  fly  in  and  out  of 
the  hive,  carrying  honey  and  making  wax. 
This  was  clear,  once  and  for  all.  She  wanted 
to  be  happy  and  free  and  enjoy  life  in  her  own 
way.  Come  what  might,  she  would  take  the 
consequences. 

Thus  lightly  thought  Maya,  the  truth  being 
that  she  had  no  real  idea  of  the  things  that  lay 
in  store  for  her. 

Afar  off  in  the  sunshine  something  glim- 
mered red.  A  lurking  impatience  seized  the 
little  bee.  Moreover,  she  felt  hungry.  So, 
courageously,  with  a  loud  joyous  buzz,  she 
swung  out  of  her  hiding-place  into  the  clear, 
glistening  air  and  the  warm  sunlight,  and 


16  MAYA  THE  BEE 

made  straight  for  the  red  patch  that  seemed 
to  nod  and  beckon.  When  she  drew  near  she 
smelled  a  perfume  so  sweet  that  it  almost 
robbed  her  of  her  senses,  and  she  was  hardly 
able  to  reach  the  large  red  flower.  She  let 
herself  down  on  the  outermost  of  its  curved 
petals  and  clung  to  it  tightly.  At  the  gentle 
tipping  of  the  petal  a  shining  silver  sphere 
almost  as  big  as  herself,  came  rolling  toward 
her,  transparent  and  gleaming  in  all  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow.  Maya  was  dreadfully  fright- 
ened, yet  fascinated  too  by  the  splendor  of  the 
cool  silver  sphere,  which  rolled  by  her,  bal- 
anced on  the  edge  of  the  petal,  leapt  into  the 
sunshine,  and  fell  down  in  the  grass.  Oh,  oh! 
The  beautiful  ball  had  shivered  into  a  score  of 
wee  pearls.  Maya  uttered  a  little  cry  of  ter- 
ror. But  the  tiny  round  fragments  made  such 
a  bright,  lively  glitter  in  the  grass,  and  ran 
down  the  blades  in  such  twinkling,  sparkling 
little  drops  like  diamonds  in  the  lamplight, 
that  she  was  reassured. 

She  turned  towards  the  inside  of  the  calix.  A 
beetle,  a  little  smaller  than  herself,  with  brown 
wing-sheaths  and  a  black  breastplate,  was  sit- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ROSE        17 

ting  at  the  entrance.  He  kept  his  place  unper- 
turbed, and  looked  at  her  seriously,  though  by 
no  means  unamiably.  Maya  bowed  politely. 

"Did  the  ball  belong  to  you?"  she  asked, 
and  receiving  no  reply  added:  "I  am  very 
sorry  I  threw  it  down." 

"Do  you  mean  the  dewdrop?"  smiled  the 
beetle,  rather  superior.  "You  needn't  worry 
abo'U  that.  I  had  taken  a  drink  already  and 
my  wife  never  drinks  water,  she  has  kidney 
trouble. — What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"What  is  this  wonderful  flower?"  asked 
Maya,  not  answering  the  beetle's  question. 
"Would  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  its 
name?" 

Remembering  Cassandra's  advice  she  was 
as  polite  as  possible. 

The  beetle  moved  his  shiny  head  in  his 
dorsal  plate,  a  thing  he  could  do  easily  with- 
out the  least  discomfort,  as  his  head  fitted  in 
perfectly  and  glided  back  and  forth  without 
a  click. 

"You  seem  to  be  only  of  yesterday?"  he 
said,  and  laughed— not  so  very  politely. 
Altogether  there  was  something  about  him 


i8  MAYA  THE  BEE 

that  struck  Maya  as  unrefined.  The  bees  had 
more  culture  and  better  manners.  Yet  he 
seemed  to  be  a  good-natured  fellow,  because, 
seeing  Maya's  blush  of  embarrassment,  he 
softened  to  her  childish  ignorance. 

"It's  a  rose,"  he  explained  indulgently. 
"So  now  you  know. — We  moved  in  four  days 
ago,  and  since  we  moved  in,  it  has  flourished 
wonderfully  under  our  care. — Won't  you 
come  in?" 

Maya  hesitated,  then  conquered  her  mis- 
givings and  took  a  few  steps  forward.  He 
pressed  aside  a  bright  petal,  Maya  entered, 
and  she  and  the  beetle  walked  beside  each 
other  through  the  narrow  chambers  with  their 
subdued  light  and  fragrant  walls. 

"What  a  charming  home!"  exclaimed 
Maya,  genuinely  taken  with  the  place.  "The 
perfume  is  positively  intoxicating." 

Maya's  admiration  pleased  the  beetle. 

"It  takes  wisdom  to  know  where  to  live," 
he  said,  and  smiled  good-naturedly.  "  Tell 
me  where  you  live  and  1*11  tell  you  what  you're 
worth,'  says  an  old  adage. — Would  you  like 
some  nectar?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ROSE        19 

"Oh,"  Maya  burst  out,  "I'd  love  some." 

The  beetle  nodded  and  disappeared  behind 
one  of  the  walls.  Maya  looked  about.  She 
was  happy.  She  pressed  her  cheeks  and  little 
hands  against  the  dainty  red  hangings  and  took 
deep  breaths  of  the  delicious  perfume,  in  an 
ecstasy  of  delight  at  being  permitted  to  stop 
in  such  a  beautiful  dwelling. 

"It  certainly  is  a  great  joy  to  be  alive,"  she 
thought.  "And  there's  no  comparison  between 
the  dingy,  crowded  stories  in  which  the  bees 
live  and  work  and  this  house.  The  very  quiet 
here  is  splendid." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  sound  of  scolding 
behind  the  walls.  It  was  the  beetle  growling 
excitedly  in  great  anger.  He  seemed  to  be 
hustling  and  pushing  someone  along  roughly, 
and  Maya  caught  the  following,  in  a  clear, 
piping  voice  full  of  fright  and  mortification. 

"Of  course,  because  I'm  alone,  you  dare  to 
lay  hands  on  me.  But  wait  and  see  what  you 
get  when  I  bring  my  associates  along.  You 
are  a  ruffian.  Very  well,  I  am  going.  But 
remember,  I  called  you  a  ruffian.  You'll 
never  forget  that" 


20  MAYA  THE  BEE 

The  stranger's  emphatic  tone,  so  sharp  and 
vicious,  frightened  Maya  dreadfully.  In  a 
few  moments  she  heard  the  sound  of  someone 
running  out. 

The  beetle  returned  and  sullenly  flung 
down  some  nectar. 

"An  outrage,"  he  said.  "You  can't  escape 
those  vermin  anywhere.  They  don't  allow  you 
a  moment's  peace." 

Maya  was  so  hungry  she  forgot  to  thank 
him  and  took  a  mouthful  of  nectar  and 
chewed,  while  the  beetle  wiped  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  forehead  and  slightly  loosened 
his  upper  armor  so  as  to  catch  his  breath. 

"Who  was  that?"  mumbled  Maya,  with  her 
mouth  still  full. 

"Please  empty  your  mouth — finish  chewing 
and  swallowing  your  nectar.  One  can't  under- 
stand a  word  you  say." 

Maya  obeyed,  but  the  excited  owner  of  the 
house  gave  her  no  time  to  repeat  her  question. 

"It  was  an  ant,"  he  burst  out  angrily.  "Do 
those  ants  think  we  save  and  store  up  hour 
after  hour  only  for  them!  The  idea  of  going 
right  into  the  pantry  without  a  how-do-you-do 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ROSE       21 

or  a  by-your-leave !  It  makes  me  furious.  If  I 
didn't  realize  that  the  ill-mannered  creatures 
actually  didn't  know  better,  I  wouldn't  hesi- 
tate a  second  to  call  them — thieves!" 

At  this  he  suddenly  remembered  his  own 
manners. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Maya,  "I  forgot  to  introduce  myself.  My 
name  is  Peter,  of  the  family  of  rose-beetles." 

"My  name  is  Maya,"  said  the  little  bee 
shyly.  "I  am  delighted  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance." She  looked  at  Peter  closely;  he  was 
bowing  repeatedly,  and  spreading  his  feelers 
like  two  little  brown  fans.  That  pleased  Maya 
immensely. 

"You  have  the  most  fascinating  feelers," 
she  said,  "simply  sweet  ..." 

"Well,  yes,"  observed  Peter,  flattered,  "peo- 
ple do  think  a  lot  of  them.  Would  you  like 
to  see  the  other  side?" 

"If  I  may." 

The  rose-beetle  turned  his  fan-shaped  feel- 
ers to  one  side  and  let  a  ray  of  sunlight  glide 
over  them. 

"Great,  don't  you  think?"  he  asked. 


22  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  anything  like 
them  possible,"  rejoined  Maya.  "My  own 
feelers  are  very  plain." 

"Well,  yes,"  observed  Peter,  "to  each  his 
own.  By  way  of  compensation  you  certainly 
have  beautiful  eyes,  and  the  color  of  your 
body,  the  gold  of  your  body,  is  not  to  be 
sneezed  at." 

Maya  beamed.  Peter  was  the  first  person 
to  tell  her  she  had  any  good  looks.  Life  was 
great.  She  was  happy  as  a  lark,  and  helped 
herself  to  some  more  nectar. 

"An  excellent  quality  of  honey,"  she  re- 
marked. 

"Take  some  more,"  said  Peter,  rather 
amazed  by  his  little  guest's  appetite.  "Rose- 
juice  of  the  first  vintage.  One  has  to  be  care- 
ful and  not  spoil  one's  stomach.  There's  some 
dew  left,  too,  if  you're  thirsty." 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  said  Maya.  "I'd 
like  to  fly  now,  if  you  will  permit  me." 

The  rose-beetle  laughed. 

"Flying,  always  flying,"  he  said.  "It's  in 
the  blood  of  you  bees.  I  don't  understand 
such  a  restless  way  of  living.  There's  some 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ROSE       23 

advantage  in  staying  in  one  place,  too,  don't 
you  think?" 

Peter  courteously  held  the  red  curtain  aside. 

"I'll  go  as  far  as  our  observation  petal  with 
you,"  he  said.  "It  makes  an  excellent  place  to 
fly  from." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Maya,  "I  can  fly  from 
anywhere." 

"That's  where  you  have  the  advantage  over 
me,"  replied  Peter.  "I  have  some  difficulty  in 
unfolding  4ny  lower  wings."  He  shook  her 
hand  and  held  the  last  curtain  aside  for  her. 

"Oh,  the  blue  sky!"  rejoiced  Maya.  "Good- 
by." 

"So  long,"  called  Peter,  remaining  on  the 
top  petal  to  see  Maya  rise  rapidly  straight  up 
to  the  sky  in  the  golden  sunlight  and  the  clear, 
pure  air  of  the  morning.  With  a  sigh  he 
returned,  pensive,  to  his  cool  rose-dwelling, 
for  though  it  was  still  early  he  was  feeling 
rather  warm.  He  sang  his  morning  song  to 
himself,  and  it  hummed  in  the  red  sheen  of  the 
petals  and  the  radiance  of  the  spring  day  that 
slowly  mounted  and  spread  over  the  blossom- 
ing earth. 


MAYA  THE  BEE 

Gold  and  green  are  field  and  tree, 
Warm  in  summer's  glow; 

All  is  bright  and  fair  to  see 
While  the  roses  blow. 

What  or  why  the  world  may  be 
Who  can  guess  or  know? 

All  my  world  is  glad  and  free 
While  the  roses  blow. 

Brief,  they  say,  my  time  of  glee ; 

With  the  roses  I  go ; 
Yes,  but  life  is  good  to  me 

While  the  roses  blow. 


D 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  LAKE 

EAR  me,"  thought  Maya,  after 
she  had  flown  off,  "oh,  dear  me,  I 
forgot  to  ask  Mr.  Peter  about 
human  beings.  A  gentleman  of  his  wide 
experience  could  certainly  have  told  me  about 
them.  But  perhaps  I'll  meet  one  myself  to- 
day." Full  of  high  spirits  and  in  a  happy 
mood  of  adventure,  she  let  her  bright  eyes 
rove  over  the  wide  landscape  that  lay  spread 
out  below  in  all  its  summer  splendor. 

She  came  to  a  large  garden  gleaming  with 
a  thousand  colors.  On  her  way  she  met  many 
insects,  who  sang  out  greetings,  and  wished 
her  a  pleasant  journey  and  a  good  harvest. — 

25 


26  MAYA  THE  BEE 

But  every  time  she  met  a  bee;  her  heart  went 
pit-a-pat.  After  all  she  felt  a  little  guilty  to  be 
idle,  and  was  afraid  of  coming  upon  ac- 
quaintances. Soon,  however,  she  saw  that  the 
bees  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  her. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  the  world  seemed  to 
turn  upside  down.  The  heavens  shone  below 
her,  in  endless  depths.  At  first  she  was  dread- 
fully frightened;  she  thought  she  had  flown 
too  far  up  and  lost  her  way  in  the  sky.  But 
presently  she  noticed  that  the  trees  were  mir- 
rored on  the  edge  of  the  terrestrial  sky,  and  to 
her  entrancement  she  realized  that  she  was 
looking  at  a  great  serene  basin  of  water  which 
lay  blue  and  clear  in  the  peaceful  morning. 
She  let  herself  down  close  to  the  surface. 
There  was  her  image  flying  in  reflection,  the 
lovely  gold  of  her  body  shining  at  her  from  the 
water,  her  bright  wings  glittering  like  clear 
glass.  And  she  observed  that  she  held  her 
little  legs  properly  against  her  body,  as  Cas- 
sandra had  taught  her  to  do. 

"It's  bliss  to  be  flying  over  the  surface  of 
water  like  this.  It  is,  really,"  she  thought. 

Big  fish  and  little  fish  swam  about  in  the 


THE  LAKE  27 

clear  element,  or  seemed  to  float  idly.  Maya 
took  good  care  not  to  go  too  close;  she  knew 
there  was  danger  to  bees  from  the  race  of 
fishes. 

On  the  opposite  shore  she  was  attracted  by 
the  water-lilies  and  the  rushes,  the  water-lilies 
with  their  large  round  leaves  lying  outspread 
on  the  water  like  green  plates,  and  the  rushes 
with  their  sun-warmed,  reedy  stalks. 

She  picked  out  a  leaf  well-concealed  under 
the  tall  blades  of  the  rushes.  It  lay  in  almost 
total  shade,  except  for  two  round  spots  like 
gold  coins;  the  rushes  swayed  above  in  the 
full  sunlight. 

"Glorious,"  said  the  little  bee,  "perfectly 
glorious." 

She  began  to  tidy  herself.  Putting  both 
arms  up  behind  her  head  she  pulled  it  for- 
ward as  if  to  tear  it  off,  but  was  careful  not 
to  pull  too  hard,  just  enough  to  scrape 
away  the  dust;  then,  with  her  little  hind  legs, 
she  stroked  and  dragged  down  her  wing- 
sheaths,  which  sprang  back  in  position  look- 
ing beautifully  bright  and  glossy. 

Just  as  she  had  completed  her  toilet  a  small 


28  MAYA  THE  BEE 

steely  blue-bottle  came  and  alighted  on  the 
leaf  beside  her.  He  looked  at  her  in  sur- 
prise. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  on  my  leaf?"  he 
demanded. 

Maya  was  startled. 

"Is  there  any  objection  to  a  person's  just 
resting  here  a  moment  or  two?" 

Maya  remembered  Cassandra's  telling  her 
that  the  nation  of  bees  commanded  great  re- 
spect in  the  insect  world.  Now  she  was  going 
to  see  if  it  was  true ;  she  was  going  to  see  if  she, 
Maya,  could  compel  respect.  Nevertheless 
her  heart  bea.t  a  little  faster  because  her  tone 
had  been  very  loud  and  peremptory. 

But  actually  the  blue-bottle  was  frightened. 
He  showed  it  plainly.  When  he  saw  that 
Maya  wasn't  going  to  let  anyone  lay  down  the 
law  to  her  he  backed  down.  With  a  surly  buzz 
he  swung  himself  on  to  a  blade  that  curved 
above  Maya's  leaf,  and  said  in  a  much  politer 
tone,  talking  down  to  her  out  of  the  sunshine : 

"You  ought  to  be  working.  As  a  bee  you 
certainly  ought.  But  if  you  want  to  rest,  all 
right.  I'll  wait  here." 


THE  LAKE  29 

"There  are  plenty  of  leaves,"  observed 
Maya. 

"All  rented,"  said  the  blue-bottle.  "Now-a- 
days  one  is  happy  to  be  able  to  call  a  piece  of 
ground  one's  own.  If  my  predecessor  hadn't 
been  snapped  up  by  a  frog  two  days  ago,  I 
should  still  be  without  a  proper  place  to  live 
in.  It's  not  very  pleasant  to  have  to  hunt  up  a 
different  lodging  every  night.  Not  everyone 
has  such  a  well-ordered  state  as  you  bees. 
But  permit  me  to  introduce  myself.  My  name 
is  Jack  Christopher." 

Maya  was  silent  with  terror,  thinking 
how  awful  it  must  be  to  fall  into  the  clutches 
of  a  frog. 

"Are  there  many  frogs  in  the  lake?"  she 
asked  and  drew  to  the  very  middle  of  the  leaf 
so  as  not  to  be  seen  from  the  water. 

The  blue-bottle  laughed. 

"You  are  giving  yourself  unnecessary  trou- 
ble," he  jeered.  "The  frog  can  see  you  from 
below  when  the  sun  shines,  because  then  the 
leaf  is  transparent.  He  sees  you  sitting  on  my 
leaf,  perfectly." 

Beset  by  the  awful  idea  that  maybe  a  big 


30  MAYA  THE  BEE 

frog  was  squatting  right  under  her  leaf  staring 
at  her  with  his  bulging  hungry  eyes,  Maya  was 
about  to  fly  off  when  something  dreadful  hap- 
pened, something  for  which  she  was  totally 
unprepared.  In  the  confusion  of  the  first 
moment  she  could  not  make  out  just  exactly 
what  <was  happening.  She  only  heard  a  loud 
rustling  like  the  wind  in  dry  leaves,  then  a 
singing  whistle,  a  loud  angry  hunter's  cry. 
And  a  fine,  transparent  shadow  glided  over 
her  leaf.  Now  she  saw — saw  fully,  and  her 
heart  stood  still  in  terror.  A  great,  glitter- 
ing dragon-fly  had  caught  hold  of  poor  Jack 
Christopher  and  held  him  tight  in  its  large, 
fangs,  sharp  as  a  knife.  The  blade  of  the 
rush  bent  low  beneath  their  weight.  Maya 
could  see  them  hovering  above  her  and  also 
mirrored  in  the  clear  water  below.  Jack's 
screams  tore  her  heart.  Without  thinking,  she 
cried : 

"Let  the  blue-bottle  go,  at  once,  whoever 
you  are.  You  have  no  right  to  interfere  with 
people's  habits.  You  have  no  right  to  be  so 
arbitrary." 

The  dragon-fly  released  Jack  from  its  fangs, 


THE  LAKE  31 

but  still  held  him  fast  with  its  arms,  and 
turned  its  head  toward  Maya.  She  was  fear- 
fully frightened  by  its  large,  grave  eyes  and 
vicious  pincers,  but  the  glittering  of  its  body 
and  wings  fascinated  her.  They  flashed  like 
glass  and  water  and  precious  stones.  The  hor- 
rifying thing  was  its  huge  size.  How  could 
she  have  been  so  bold?  She  was  all  a-tremble. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  child?"  The 
dragon-fly's  tone,  surprisingly,  was  quite 
friendly. 

"Let  him  go,"  cried  Maya,  and  tears  came 
into  her  eyes.  "His  name  is  Jack  Chris- 
topher." 

The  dragon-fly  smiled. 

"Why,  little  one?"  it  said,  putting  on  an  in- 
terested air,  though  most  condescending. 

Maya  stammered  helplessly: 

"Oh,  he's  such  a  nice,  elegant  gentleman, 
and  he's  never  done  you  any  harm  so  far  as  I 
know." 

The  dragon-fly  regarded  Jack  Christopher 
contemplatively. 

"Yes,  he  is  a  dear  little  fellow,"  it  replied 
tenderly  and — bit  Jack's  head  off. 


32  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Maya  thought  she  was  losing  her  senses. 
For  a  long  time  she  couldn't  utter  a  sound.  In 
horror  she  listened  to  the  munching  and 
crunching  above  her  as  the  body  of  Jack 
Christopher  the  blue-bottle  was  being  dis- 
membered. 

"Don't  put  on  so,"  said  the  dragon-fly  with 
its  mouth  full,  chewing.  "Your  sensitiveness 
doesn't  impress  me.  Are  you  bees  any  jbetter? 
What  do  you  do?  Evidently  you  are  very 
young  still  and  haven't  looked  about  in  your 
own  house.  When  the  massacre  of  the  drones 
takes  place  in  the  summer,  the  rest  of  the  world 
is  no  less  shocked  and  horrified,  and  I  think 
with  greater  justification." 

Maya  asked: 

"Have  you  finished  up  there?"  She  did  not 
dare  to  raise  her  eyes. 

"One  leg  still  left,"  replied  the  dragon-fly. 

"Do  please  swallow  it.  Then  I'll  answer 
you,"  cried  Maya,  who  knew  that  the  drones 
in  the  hive  had  to  be  killed  off  in  the  summer, 
and  was  provoked  by  the  dragon-fly's  stupidity. 
"But  don't  you  dare  to  come  a  step  closer.  If 
you  do  I'll  use  my  sting  on  you." 


THE  LAKE  33 

Little  Maya  had  really  lost  her  temper.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  mentioned  her  sting 
and  the  first  time  she  felt  glad  that  she  pos- 
sessed the  weapon. 

The  dragon-fly  threw  her  a  wicked  glance. 
It  had  finished  its  meal  and  sat  with  its  head 
slightly  ducked,  fixing  Maya  with  its  eyes  and 
looking  like  a  beast  of  prey  about  to  pounce. 
The  little  bee  was  quite  calm  now.  Where  she 
got  her  courage  from  she  couldn't  have  told, 
but  she  was  no  longer  afraid.  She  set  up  a 
very  fine  clear  buzzing  as  she  had  once  heard 
a  sentinel  do  when  a  wasp  came  near  the  en- 
trance of  the  hive. 

The  dragon-fly  said  slowly  and  threaten- 
ingly: 

"Dragon-flies  live  on  the  best  terms  with 
the  nation  of  bees." 

"Very  sensible  in  them,"  flashed  Maya. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  I  am  afraid 
of  you — I  of  you?"  With  a  jerk  the  dragon- 
fly let  go  of  the  rush,  which  sprang  back  into 
its  former  position,  and  flew  off  with  a  whirr 
and  sparkle  of  its  wings,  straight  down  to  the 
surface  of  the  water,  where  it  made  a  superb 


34  MAYA  THE  BEE 

appearance  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  lake. 
You'd  have  thought  there  were  two  dragon- 
flies.  Both  moved  their  crystal  wings  so 
swiftly  and  finely  that  it  seemed  as  though 
a  brilliant  sheen  of  silver  were  streaming 
around  them. 

Maya  quite  forgot  her  grief  over  poor  Jack 
Christopher  and  all  sense  of  her  own  danger. 

"How  lovely!  How  lovely!"  she  cried  en- 
thusiastically, clapping  her  hands. 

"Do  you  mean  me?"  The  dragon-fly  spoke 
in  astonishment,  but  quickly  added:  "Yes,  I 
must  admit  I  am  fairly  presentable.  Yester- 
day I  was  flying  along  the  brook,  and  you 
should  have  heard  some  human  beings  who 
were  lying  on  the  bank  rave  over  me." 

"Human  beings!"  exclaimed  Maya.  "Oh 
my,  did  you  see  human  beings?" 

"Of  course,"  answered  the  dragon-fly.  "But 
you'll  be  very  interested  to  know  my  name,  I'm 
sure.  My  name  is  Loveydear,  of  the  order 
Odonata,  of  the  family  Libellulidae." 

"Oh,  do  tell  me  about  human  beings,"  im- 
plored Maya,  after  she  had  introduced  herself. 

The   dragon-fly   seemed    won   over.      She 


THE  LAKE  35 

seated  herself  on  the  leaf  beside  Maya.  And 
the  little  bee  let  her,  knowing  Miss  Lovey- 
dear  would  be  careful  not  to  come  too 
close. 

"Have  human  beings  a  sting?"  she  asked. 

"Good  gracious,  what  would  they  do  with  a 
sting!  No,  they  have  worse  weapons  against 
us,  and  they  are  very  dangerous.  There  isn't 
a  soul  who  isn't  afraid  of  them,  especially  of 
the  little  ones  whose  two  legs  show — the  boys." 

"Do  they  try  to  catch  you?"  asked  Maya, 
breathless  with  excitement. 

"Yes,  can't  you  understand  why?"  Miss 
Loveydear  glanced  at  her  wings.  "I  have  sel- 
dom met  a  human  being  who  hasn't  tried  to 
catch  me." 

"But  why?"  asked  Maya  in  a  tremor. 

"You  see,"  said  Miss  Loveydear,  with  a 
modest  smirk  and  a  drooping,  sidewise  glance, 
"there's  something  attractive  about  us  dragon- 
flies.  That's  the  only  reason  I  know.  Some 
members  of  our  family  who  let  themselves  be 
caught  went  through  the  cruellest  tortures  and 
finally  died." 

"Were  they  eaten  up?" 


36  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"No,  no,  not  exactly  that,"  said  Miss  Lovey- 
dear  comfortingly.  "So  far  as  is  known,  man 
does  not  feed  on  dragon-flies.  But  sometimes 
he  has  murderous  desires,  a  lust  for  killing, 
which  will  probably  never  be  explained.  You 
may  not  believe  it,  but  cases  have  actually  oc- 
curred of  the  so-called  boy-men  catching 
dragon-flies  and  pulling  off  their  legs  and 
wings  for  pure  pleasure.  You  doubt  it,  don't 
you?" 

"Of  course  I  doubt  it,"  cried  Maya  indig- 
nantly. 

Miss  Loveydear  shrugged  her  glistening 
shoulders.  Her  face  looked  old  with  knowl- 
edge. 

"Oh,"  she  said  after  a  pause,  grieving  and 
pale,  "if  only  one  could  speak  of  these  things 
openly.  I  had  a  brother  who  gave  promise  of 
a  splendid  future,  only,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  he 
was  a  little  reckless  and  dreadfully  curious.  A 
boy  once  threw  a  net  over  him,  a  net  fastened 
to  a  long  pole. — Who  would  dream  of  a  thing 
like  that?  Tell  me.  Would  you?" 

"No,"  said  the  little  bee,  "never.  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing." 


THE  LAKE  37 

The  dragon-fly  looked  at  her. 

"A  black  cord  was  tied  round  his  waist  be- 
tween his  wings,  so  that  he  could  fly,  but  not 
fly  away,  not  escape.  Each  time  my  brother 
thought  he  had  got  his  liberty,  he  would  be 
jerked  back  horribly  within  the  boy's  reach." 

Maya  shook  her  head. 

"You  don't  dare  even  think  of  it,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"If  a  day  passes  when  I  don't  think  of  it," 
said  the  dragon-fly,  "I  am  sure  to  dream  of  it. 
One  misfortune  followed  another.  My 
brother  soon  died."  Miss  Loveydear  heaved 
a  deep  sigh. 

"What  did  he  die  of?"  asked  Maya,  in  gen- 
uine sympathy. 

Miss  Loveydear  could  not  reply  at  once. 
Great  tears  welled  up  and  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

"He  was  stuck  in  a  pocket,"  she  sobbed." 
"No  one  can  stand  being  stuck  in  a  pocket." 

"But  what  is  a  pocke*t?"  Maya  could  hardly 
take  in  so  many  new  and  awful  things  all  at 
once. 

"A  pocket,"  Miss  Loveydear  explained,  "is 


38  MAYA  THE  BEE 

a  store-room  that  men  have  in  their  outer  hide. 
— And  what  else  do  you  think  was  in  the 
pocket  when  my  brother  was  stuck  into  it? 
Oh,  the  dreadful  company  in  which  my  poor 
brother  had  to  draw  his  last  breath!  You'll 
never  guess!" 

"No,"  said  Maya,  all  in  a  quiver,  "no,  I 
don't  think  I  can. — Honey,  perhaps?" 

"Not  likely,"  observed  Miss  Loveydear 
with  an  air  of  mingled  importance  and  dis- 
tress. "You'll  seldom  find  honey  in  the  pock- 
ets of  human  beings.  I'll  tell  you. — A  frog 
was  in  the  pocket,  and  a  pen-knife,  and  a  car- 
rot. Well?" 

"Horrible,"  whispered  Maya. — "What  is  a 
pen-knife?" 

"A  pen-knife,  in  a  way,  is  a  human  being's 
sting,  an  artificial  one.  They  are  denied  a 
sting  by  nature,  so  they  try  to  imitate  it. — The 
frog,  thank  goodness,  was  nearing  his  end. 
One  eye  was  gone,  one  leg  was  broken,  and  his 
lower  jaw  was  dislocated.  Yet,  for  all  that, 
the  moment  my  brother  was  stuck  in  the 
pocket  he  hissed  at  him  out  of  his  crooked 
mouth : 


THE  LAKE  39 

"  'As  soon  as  I  am  well,  I  will  swallow 
you.' 

"With  his  remaining  eye  he  glared  at  my 
brother,  and  in  the  half-light  of  the  prison  you 
can  imagine  what  an  effect  the  look  he  gave 
him  must  have  had — fearful! — Then  some- 
thing even  more  horrible  happened.  The 
pocket  was  suddenly  shaken,  my  brother  was 
pressed  against  the  dying  frog  and  his  wings 
stuck  to  its  cold,  wet  body.  He  went  off  in  a 
faint. — Oh,  the  misery  of  itl  There  are  no 
words  to  describe  it." 

"How  did  you  find  all  this  out?"  Maya 
was  so  horrified  she  could  scarcely  frame  the 
question. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  replied  Miss  Loveydear. 
"After  a  while  the  boy  got  hungry  and  dug 
into  his  pocket  for  the  carrot.  It  was  under 
my  brother  and  the  frog,  and  the  boy  threw 
them  away  first. — I  heard  my  brother's  cry 
for  help,  and  found  him  lying  beside  the  frog 
on  the  grass.  I  reached  him  only  in  time  to 
hear  the  whole  story  before  he  breathed  his 
last.  He  put  his  arms  round  my  neck  and 
kissed  me  farewell.  Then  he  died — bravely 


40  MAYA  THE  BEE 

and  without  complaining,  like  a  little  hero. 
When  his  crushed  wings  had  given  their  last 
quiver,  I  laid  an  oak  leaf  over  his  body  and 
went  to  look  for  a  sprig  of  forget-me-nots  to 
put  upon  his  grave.  'Sleep  well,  my  little 
brother,'  I  cried,  and  flew  off  in  the  quiet  of 
the  evening.  I  flew  toward  the  two  red  suns, 
4he  one  in  the  sky  and  the  one  in  the  lake.  No 
one  has  ever  felt  as  sad  and  solemn  as  I  did 
then. — Have  you  ever  had  a  sorrow  in  your 
life?  Perhaps  you'll  tell  me  about  it  some 
other  time." 

"No,"  said  Maya.  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
until  now  I  have  always  been  happy." 

"You  may  thank  your  lucky  stars,"  said 
Miss  Loveydear  with  a  note  of  disappoint- 
ment in  her  voice. 

Maya  asked  about  the  frog. 

"Oh,  him"  said  Miss  Loveydear.  "He,  it 
is  presumed,  met  with  the  end  he  deserved. 
The  hard-heartedness  of  him,  to  frighten  a 
dying  person!  When  I  found  him  on  the 
grass  beside  my  brother,  he  was  trying  to  get 
away.  But  on  account  of  his  broken  leg  and 
one  eye  gone,  all  he  could  do  was  hop  round 


THE  LAKE  41 

in  a  circle  and  hop  round  in  a  circle.  He 
looked  too  comical  for  words.  'The  stork'll 
soon  get  ye,'  I  called  to  him  as  I  flew  away." 

"Poor  frog!"  said  little  Maya. 

"Poor  frog!  Poor  frog  indeed  1  That's  go- 
ing too  far.  Pitying  a  frog.  The  idea!  To 
feel  sorry  for  a  frog  is  like  clipping  your  own 
wings.  You  seem  to  have  no  principles." 

"Perhaps.  But  it's  hard  for  me  to  see  any 
one  suffer." 

"Oh" — Miss  Loveydear  comforted  her — 
"that's  because  you're  so  young.  You'll  learn 
to  bear  it  in  time.  Cheerio,  my  dear. — But  I 
must  be  getting  into  the  sunshine.  It's  pretty 
cold  here.  Good-by!" 

A  faint  rustle  and  the  gleam  of  a  thousand 
colors,  lovely  pale  colors  like  the  glints  in 
running  water  and  clear  gems. 

Miss  Loveydear  swung  through  the  green 
rushes  out  over  the  surface  of  the  water.  Maya 
heard  her  singing  in  the  sunshine.  She  stood 
and  listened.  It  was  a  fine  song,  with  some- 
thing of  the  melancholy  sweetness  of  a  folk- 
song, and  it  filled  the  little  bee's  heart  with 
mingled  happiness  and  sadness. 


42  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Softly  flows  the  lovely  stream 
Touched  by  morning's  rosy  gleam 

Through  the  alders  darted, 
Where  the  rushes  bend  and  sway, 
Where  the  water-lilies  say 
"We  are  golden-hearted!" 

Warm  the  scent  the  west-wind  brings, 
Bright  the  sun  upon  my  wings, 

Joy  among  the  flowers! 
Though  my  life  may  not  be  long, 
Golden  summer,  take  my  song! 

Thanks  for  perfect  hours! 

"Listen!"  a  white  butterfly  called  to  its 
friend.  "Listen  to  the  song  of  the  dragon-fly." 
The  light  creatures  rocked  close  to  Maya,  and 
rocked  away  again  into  the  radiant  blue  day. 
Then  Maya  also  lifted  her  wings,  buzzed 
farewell  to  the  silvery  lake,  and  flew  inland. 


MAYA  LIFTED  HER  WINGS,  BUZZED  FAREWELL  TO  THE  LAKE,  AND  FLEW  INLAND 


CHAPTER  IV 

EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE 

WHEN  Maya  awoke  the  next  morn- 
ing in  the  corolla  of  a  blue  canter- 
bury bell,  she  heard  a  fine,  faint 
rustling  in  the  air  and  felt  her  blossom-bed 
quiver  as  from  a  tiny,  furtive  tap-tapping. 
Through  the  open  corolla  came  a  damp  whiff 
of  grass  and  earth,  and  the  air  was  quite  chill. 
In  some  apprehension,  she  took  a  little  pollen 
from  the  yellow  stamens,  scrupulously  per- 
formed her  toilet,  then,  warily,  picking  her 
steps,  ventured  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  droop- 
ing blossom.  It  was  raining!  A  fine  cool 
rain  was  coming  down  with  a  light  plash,  cov- 
ering everything  all  round  with  millions  of 

43 


44  MAYA  THE  BEE 

bright  silver  pearls,  which  clung  to  the  leaves 
and  flowers,  rolled  down  the  green  paths  of  the 
blades  of  grass,  and  refreshed  the  brown  soil. 

What  a  change  in  the  world!  It  was  the 
first  time  in  the  child-bee's  young  life  that  she 
had  seen  rain.  It  filled  her  with  wonder;  it 
delighted  her.  Yet  she  was  a  little  troubled. 
She  remembered  Cassandra's  warning  never 
to  fly  abroad  in  the  rain.  It  must  be  difficult, 
she  realized,  to  move  your  wings  when  the 
drops  beat  them  down.  And  the  cold  really 
hurt,  and  she  missed  the  quiet  golden  sunshine 
that  gladdened  the  earth  and  made  it  a  place 
free  from  all  care. 

It  seemed  to  be  very  early  still.  The  animal 
life  in  the  grass  was  just  beginning.  From  the 
concealment  of  her  lofty  bluebell  Maya  com- 
manded a  splendid  view  of  the  social  life  com- 
ing awake  beneath.  Watching  it  she  forgot, 
for  the  moment,  her  anxiety  and  mounting 
homesickness.  It  was  too  amusing  for  any- 
thing to  be  safe  in  a  hiding-place,  high  up,  and 
look  down  on  the  doings  of  the  grass-dwellers 
below. 

Slowly,  however,  her  thoughts  went  back — 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  45 

back  to  the  home  she  had  left,  to  the  bee-state, 

and  to  the  protection  of  its  close  solidarity. 

There,  on  this  rainy  day,  the  bees  would  be 

sitting  together,  glad  of  the  day  of  rest,  doing  a 

little  construction  here  and  there  on  the  cells, 

or  feeding  the  larvae.    Yet,  on  the  whole,  the 

hive  was  very  quiet  and  Sunday-like  when  it 

rained.     Only,  sometimes  messengers  would 

fly  out  to  see  how  the  weather  was  and  from 

what  quarter  the  wind  was  blowing.     The 

queen  would  go   about  her  kingdom   from 

story  to  story,  testing  things,  bestowing  a  word 

of  praise  or  blame,  laying  an  egg  here  and 

there,  and  bringing  happiness  with  her  royal 

presence  wherever  she  went.     She  might  pat 

one  of  the  younger  bees  on  the  head  to  show 

her  approval  of  what  it  had  already  done,  or 

she  might  ask  it  about  its  new  experiences. 

How  delighted  a  bee  would  be  to  catch  a 

glance  or  receive  a  gracious  word  from  the 

queen! 

Oh,  thought  Maya,  how  happy  it  made  you 
to  be  able  to  count  yourself  one  in  a  com- 
munity like  that,  to  feel  that  everybody  re- 
spected you,  and  you  had  the  powerful  pro- 


46  MAYA  THE  BEE 

tcction  of  the  state.  Here,  out  in  the  world, 
lonely  and  exposed,  she  ran  great  risks  of  her 
life.  She  was  cold,  too.  And  supposing  the 
rain  were  to  keep  up!  What  would  she  do, 
how  could  she  find  something  to  eat?  There 
was  scarcely  any  honey-juice  in  the  canter- 
bury bell,  and  the  pollen  would  soon  give  out. 

For  the  first  time  Maya  realized  how  neces- 
sary the  sunshine  is  for  a  life  of  vagabondage. 
Hardly  anyone  would  set  out  on  adventure, 
she  thought,  if  it  weren't  for  the  sunshine. 
The  very  recollection  of  it  was  cheering,  and 
she  glowed  with  secret  pride  that  she  had  had 
the  daring  to  start  life  on  her  own  hook.  The 
number  of  things  she  had  already  seen  and 
experienced  1  More,  ever  so  much  more,  than 
the  other  bees  were  likely  to  know  in  a  whole 
lifetime.  Experience  was  the  most  precious 
thing  in  life,  worth  any  sacrifice,  she  thought. 

A  troop  of  migrating  ants  were  passing  by, 
and  singing  as  they  marched  through  the  cool 
forest  of  grass.  They  seemed  to  be  in  a 
hurry.  Their  crisp  morning  song,  in  rhythm 
with  their  march,  touched  the  little  bee's  heart 
with  melancholy. 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  47 

Few  our  days  on  earth  shall  be, 

Fast  the  moments  flit; 
First-class  robbers  such  as  we 

Do  not  care  a  bit! 

They  were  extraordinarily  well  armed  and 
looked  saucy,  bold  and  dangerous. 

The  song  died  away  under  the  leaves  of  the 
coltsfoot.  But  some  mischief  seemed  to  have 
been  done  there.  A  rough,  hoarse  voice 
sounded,  and  the  small  leaves  of  a  young  dan- 
delion were  energetically  thrust  aside.  Maya 
saw  a  corpulent  blue  beetle  push  its  way  out. 
It  looked  like  a  half-sphere  of  dark  metal, 
shimmering  with  lights  of  blue  and  green  and 
occasional  black.  It  may  have  been  two  or 
even  three  times  her  size.  Its  hard  sheath 
looked  as  though  nothing  could  destroy  it, 
and  its  deep  voice  positively  frightened 
you. 

The  song  of  the  soldiers,  apparently,  had 
roused  him  out  of  sleep.  He  was  cross.  His 
hair  was  still  rumpled,  and  he  rubbed  the  sleep 
out  of  his  cunning  little  blue  eyes. 

"Make  way,  I'm  coming.    Make  way." 

He  seemed  to  think  that  people  should  step 


48  MAYA  THE  BEE 

aside  at  the  mere  announcement  of  his  ap- 
proach. 

"Thank  the  Lord  I'm  not  in  his  way," 
thought  Maya,  feeling  very  safe  in  her  high, 
swaying  nook  of  concealment.  Nevertheless 
her  heart  went  pit-a-pat,  and  she  withdrew  a 
little  deeper  into  the  flower-bell. 

The  beetle  moved  with  a  clumsy  lurch 
through  the  wet  grass,  presenting  a  not  exactly 
elegant  appearance.  Directly  under  Maya's 
blossom  was  a  withered  leaf.  Here  he 
stopped,  shoved  the  leaf  aside,  and  made  a 
step  backward.  Maya  saw  a  hole  in  the 
ground. 

"Well,"  she  thought,  all  a-gog  with  curi- 
osity, "the  things  there  are  in  the  world.  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  Life's  not  long 
enough  for  all  there  is  to  see." 

She  kept  very  quiet.  The  only  sound  was 
the  soft  pelting  of  the  rain.  Then  she  heard 
the  beetle  calling  down  the  hole: 

"If  you  want  to  go  hunting  with  me,  you'll 
have  to  make  up  your  mind  to  get  right  up. 
It's  already  bright  daylight."  He  was  feeling 
so  very  superior  for  having  waked  up  first 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  49 

that   it  was   hard    for   him   to   be   pleasant. 

A  few  moments  passed  before  the  answer 
came.  Then  Maya  heard  a  thin,  chirping 
voice  rise  out  of  the  hole. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  do  close  the  door  up 
there.  It's  raining  in." 

The  beetle  obeyed.  He  stood  in  an  expectant 
attitude,  his  head  cocked  a  little  to  one  side, 
and  squinted  through  the  crack. 

"Please  hurry,"  he  grumbled. 

Maya  was  tense  with  eagerness  to  see  what 
sort  of  a  creature  would  come  out  of  the  hole. 
She  crept  so  far  out  on  the  edge  of  the  blossom 
that  a  drop  of  rain  fell  on  her  shoulder,  and 
gave  her  a  start.  She  wiped  herself  dry. 

Below  her  the  withered  leaf  heaved;  a 
brown  insect  crept  out,  slowly.  Maya 
thought  it  was  the  queerest  specimen  she  had 
ever  seen.  It  had  a  plump  body,  set  on  ex- 
tremely thin,  slow-moving  legs,  and  a  fear- 
fully thick  head,  with  little  upright  feelers. 
It  looked  flustered* 

"Good  morning,  Effie  dear."  The  beetle 
went  slim  with  politeness.  He  was  all  polite- 
ness, and  his  body  seemed  really  slim.  "How 


50  MAYA  THE  BEE 

did  you  sleep?  How  did  you  sleep,  my  pre- 
cious— my  all?" 

Effie  took  his  hand  rather  stonily. 

"It  can't  be,  Bobbie,"  she  said.  "I  can't  go 
with  you.  We're  creating  too  much  talk." 

Poor  Bobbie  looked  quite  alarmed. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  stammered.  "I 
don't  understand. — Is  our  new-found  happi- 
ness to  be  wrecked  by  such  nonsense?  Effie, 
think — think  the  thing  over.  What  do  you 
care  what  people  say?  You  have  your  hole, 
you  can  creep  into  it  whenever  you  like,  and 
if  you  go  down  far  enough,  you  won't  hear  a 
syllable." 

Effie  smiled  a  sad,  superior  smile. 

"Bobbie,  you  don't  understand.  I  have  my 
own  views  in  the  matter. — Besides,  there's 
something  else.  You  have  been  exceedingly 
indelicate.  You  took  advantage  of  my  igno- 
rance. You  let  me  think  you  were  a  rose-beetle 
and  yesterday  the  snail  told  me  you  are  a 
tumble-bug.  A  considerable  difference!  He 
saw  you  engaged  in — well,  doing  something  I 
don't  care  to  mention.  I'm  sure  you  will  now 
admit  that  I  must  take  back  my  word." 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  51 

Bobbie  was  stunned.  When  he  recovered 
from  the  shock  he  burst  out  angrily: 

"No,  I  don't  understand.  I  can't  under- 
stand. I  want  to  be  loved  for  myself,  and  not 
for  my  business." 

"If  only  it  weren't  dung,"  said  Effie  offishly, 
"anything  but  dung,  I  shouldn't  be  so  particu- 
lar.— And  please  remember,  I'm  a  young 
widow  who  lost  her  husband  only  three  days 
ago  under  the  most  tragic  circumstances — he 
was  gobbled  up  by  the  shrewmouse — and  it 
isn't  proper  for  me  to  be  gadding  about.  A 
young  widow  should  lead  a  life  of  complete 
retirement.  So — good-by." 

Pop  into  her  hole  went  Effie,  as  though  a 
puff  of  wind  had  blown  her  away.  Maya 
would  never  have  thought  it  possible  that  any- 
one could  dive  into  the  ground  as  fast  as 
that. 

Effie  was  gone,  and  Bobbie  stared  in  blank 
bewilderment  down  the  empty  dark  opening, 
looking  so  utterly  stupid  that  Maya  had  to 
laugh. 

Finally  he  roused,  and  shook  his  small 
round  head  in  angry  distress.  His  feelers 


52  MAYA  THE  BEE 

drooped  dismally  like  two  rain-soaked  fans. 

"People  now-a-days  no  longer  appreciate 
fineness  of  character  and  respectability,"  he 
sighed.  "Effie  is  heartless.  I  didn't  dare  ad- 
mit it  to  myself,  but  she  is,  she's  absolutely 
heartless.  But  even  if  she  hasn't  got  the  right 
feelings,  she  ought  to  have  the  good  sense  to  be 
my  wife." 

Maya  saw  the  tears  come  to  his  eyes,  and 
her  heart  was  seized  with  pity. 

But  the  next  instant  Bobbie  stirred.  He 
wiped  the  tears  away  and  crept  cautiously  be- 
hind a  small  mound  of  earth,  which  his  friend 
had  probably  shoveled  out  of  her  dwelling. 
A  little  flesh-colored  earthworm  was  coming 
along  through  the  grass.  It  had  the  queerest 
way  of  propelling  itself,  by  first  making  itself 
long  and  thin,  then  short  and  thick.  Its  cylin- 
der of  a  body  consisted  of  nothing  but  delicate 
rings  that  pushed  and  groped  forward  noise- 
lessly. 

Suddenly,  startling  Maya,  Bobbie  made  one 
step  out  of  his  hiding-place,  caught  hold  of 
the  worm,  bit  it  in  two,  and  began  calmly  to 
eat  the  one  half,  heedless  pf  its  desperate  wrig- 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  53 

gling  or  the  wriggling  of  the  other  half  in  the 
grass.     It  was  a  tiny  little  worm. 

"Patience,"  said  Bobbie,  "it  will  soon  be 


over." 


But  while  he  chewed,  his  thoughts  seemed 
to  revert  to  Effie,  his  Effie,  whom  he  had  lost 
forever  and  aye,  and  great  tears  rolled  down 
his  cheeks. 

Maya  pitied  him  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart. 

"Dear  me,"  she  thought,  "there  certainly  is 
a  lot  of  sadness  in  the  world." 

At  that  moment  she  saw  the  half  of  the 
worm  which  Bobbie  had  set  aside,  making  a 
hasty  departure. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  like!"  she  cried,  sur- 
prised into  such  a  loud  tone  that  Bobbie  looked 
around  wondering  where  the  sound  had  come 
from. 

"Make  way!"  he  called. 

"But  I'm  not  in  your  way,"  said  Maya. 

"Where  are  you  then?  You  must  be  some- 
where." 

"Up  here.  Up  above  you.  In  the  bluebell." 

"I  believe  you,  but  I'm  no  grasshopper.    I 


54  MAYA  THE  BEE 

can't  turn  my  head  up  far  enough  to  see  you. 
Why  did  you  scream?" 

"The  half  of  the  worm  is  running  away." 

"Yes,"  said  Bobbie,  looking  after  the  re- 
treating fraction,  "the  creatures  are  very 
lively. — I've  lost  my  appetite."  With  that  he 
threw  away  the  remnant  which  he  was  still 
holding  in  his  hand,  and  this  worm  portion 
also  retreated,  in  the  other  direction. 

Maya  was  completely  puzzled.  But  Bobbie 
seemed  to  be  familiar  with  this  peculiarity  of 
worms. 

"Don't  suppose  that  I  always  eat  worms," 
he  remarked.  "You  see,  you  don't  find  roses 
everywhere." 

"Tell  the  little  one  at  least  which  way  its 
other  half  ran,"  cried  Maya  in  great  excite- 
ment. 

Bobbie  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"Those  whom  fate  has  rent  asunder,  let  no 
man  join  together  again,"  he  observed. — 
"Who  are  you?" 

"Maya,  of  the  nation  of  bees." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  I  have  nothing 
against  the  bees. — Why  are  you  sitting  about? 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  55 

Bees  don't  usually  sit  about.  Have  you  been 
sitting  there  long?" 

"I  slept  here." 

"Indeed!"  There  was  a  note  of  suspicion 
in  Bobbie's  voice.  "I  hope  you  slept  well, 
very  well.  Did  you  just  wake  up?" 

"Yes,"  said  Maya,  who  had  shrewdly 
guessed  that  Bobbie  would  not  like  her  hav- 
ing overheard  his  conversation  with  Effie,  the 
cricket,  and  did  not  want  to  hurt  his  feelings 
again. 

Bobbie  ran  hither  and  thither  trying  to  look 
up  and  see  Maya. 

"Wait,"  he  said.  "If  I  raise  myself  on  my 
hind  legs  and  lean  against  that  blade  of  grass 
I'll  be  able  to  see  you,  and  you'll  be  able  to 
look  into  my  eyes.  You  want  to,  don't  you?" 

"Why,  I  do  indeed.    I'd  like  to  very  much." 

Bobbie  found  a  suitable  prop,  the  stem  of  a 
buttercup.  The  flower  tipped  a  little  to  one 
side  so  that  Maya  could  see  him  perfectly  as 
he  raised  himself  on  his  hind  legs  and  looked 
up  at  her.  She  thought  he  had  a  nice,  dear, 
friendly  face — but  not  so  very  young  any  more 
and  cheeks  rather  too  plump.  He  bowed,  set- 


$6  MAYA  THE  BEE 

ting  the  buttercup  a-rocking,  and  introduced 
himself : 

"Bobbie,  of  the  family  of  rose-beetles." 

Maya  had  to  laugh  to  herself.  She  knew 
very  well  he  was  not  a  rose-beetle ;  he  was  a 
dung-beetle.  But  she  passed  the  matter  over 
in  silence,  not  caring  to  mortify  him. 

"Don't  you  mind  the  rain?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  no.  I'm  accustomed  to  the  rain — from 
the  roses,  you  know.  It's  usually  raining  there." 

Maya  thought  to  herself: 

"After  all  I  must  punish  him  a  little  for  his 
brazen  lies.  He's  so  frightfully  vain." 

"Bobbie,"  she  said  with  a  sly  smile,  "what 
sort  of  a  hole  is  that  one  there,  under  the  leaf?" 

Bobbie  started. 

"A  hole?  A  hole,  did  you  say?  There  are 
very  many  holes  round  here.  It's  probably 
just  an  ordinary  hole.  You  have  no  idea  how 
many  holes  there  are  in  the  ground." 

Bobbie  had  hardly  uttered  the  last  word 
when  something  dreadful  happened.  In  his 
eagerness  to  appear  indifferent  he  had  lost  his 
balance  and  toppled  over.  Maya  heard  a  de- 
spairing shriek,  and  the  next  instant  saw  the 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  57 

beetle  lying  flat  on  his  back  in  the  grass,  his 
armrand  legs  waving  pitifully  in  the  air. 

"I'm  done  for,"  he  wailed,  "I'm  done  for. 
I  can't  get  back  on  my  feet  again.  I'll  never 
be  able  to  get  back  on  my  feet  again.  I'll 
die.  I'll  die  in  this  position.  Have  you  ever 
heard  of  a  worse  fate!" 

He  carried  on  so  that  he  did  not  hear  Maya 
trying  to  comfort  him.  And  he  kept  making 
efforts  to  touch  the  ground  with  his  feet.  But 
each  time  he'd  painfully  get  hold  of  a  bit  of 
earth,  it  would  give  way,  and  he'd  fall  over 
again  on  his  high  half-sphere  of  a  back.  The 
case  looked  really  desperate,  and  Maya  was 
honestly  concerned ;  he  was  already  quite  pale 
in  the  face  and  his  cries  were  heart-rending. 

"I  can't  stand  it,  I  can't  stand  this  position," 
he  yelled.  "At  least  turn  your  head  away. 
Don't  torture  a  dying  man  with  your  inquisi- 
tive stares. — If  only  I  could  reach  a  blade  of 
grass,  or  the  stem  of  the  buttercup.  You 
can't  hold  on  to  the  air.  Nobody  can  do  that. 
Nobody  can  hold  on  to  the  air." 

Maya's  heart  was  quivering  with  pity. 

"Wait,"  she  cried,  "I'll  try  to  turn  you  over. 


58  MAYA  THE  BEE 

If  I  try  very  hard  I  am  bound  to  succeed.  But 
Bobbie,  Bobbie,  dear  man,  don't  yell  like  that. 
Listen  to  me.  If  I  bend  a  blade  of  grass  over 
and  reach  the  tip  of  it  to  you,  will  you  be  able 
to  use  it  and  save  yourself?" 

Bobbie  had  no  ears  for  her  suggestion. 
Frightened  out  of  his  senses,  he  did  nothing 
but  kick  and  scream. 

So  little  Maya,  in  spite  of  the  rain,  flew  out 
of  her  cover  over  to  a  slim  green  blade  of  grass 
beside  Bobbie,  and  clung  to  it  near  the  tip.  It 
bent  under  her  weight  and  sank  directly  above 
Bobbie's  wriggling  limbs.  Maya  gave  a  little 
cry  of  delight. 

"Catch  hold  of  it,"  she  called. 

Bobbie  felt  something  tickle  his  face  and 
quickly  grabbed  at  it,  first  with  one  hand,  then 
with  the  other,  and  finally  with  his  legs,  which 
had  splendid  sharp  claws,  two  each.  Bit  by 
bit  he  drew  himself  along  the  blade  until  he 
reached  the  base,  where  it  was  thicker  and 
stronger,  and  he  was  able  to  turn  himself  over 
on  it. 

He  heaved  a  tremendous  sigh  of  relief. 

"Good   God!"  he  exclaimed.     "That  was 


EFFIE  AND  BOBBIE  59 

awful.  But  for  my  presence  of  mind  I  should 
have  fallen  a  victim  to  your  talkativeness." 

"Are  you  feeling  better?"  asked  Maya. 

Bobbie  clutched  his  forehead. 

"Thanks,  thanks.  When  this  dizziness 
passes,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

But  Maya  never  got  the  answer  to  her  ques- 
tion. A  field-sparrow  came  hopping  through 
the  grass  in  search  of  insects,  and  the  little  bee 
pressed  herself  close  to  the  ground  and  kept 
very  quiet  until  the  bird  had  gone.  When  she 
looked  around  for  Bobbie  he  had  disappeared. 
So  she  too  made  off;  for  the  rain  had  stopped 
and  the  day  was  clear  and  warm. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ACROBAT 

OH,  what  a  day! 
The  dew  had  fallen  early  in  the 
morning,  and  when  the  sun  rose  and 
cast  its  slanting  beams  across  the  forest  of 
grass,  there  was  such  a  sparkling  and  glisten- 
ing and  gleaming  that  you  didn't  know  what 
to  say  or  do  for  sheer  ecstasy,  it  was  so  beauti- 
ful, so  beautiful! 

The  moment  Maya  awoke,  glad  sounds 
greeted  her  from  all  round.  Some  came  out 
of  the  trees,  from  the  throats  of  the  birds,  the 
dreaded  creatures  who  could  yet  produce  such 
exquisite  song;  other  happy  calls  came  out  of 

the  air,  from  flying  insects,  or  out  of  the  grass 

60 


THE  ACROBAT  61 

and  the  bushes,  from  bugs  and  flies,  big  ones 
and  little  ones. 

Maya  had  made  it  very  comfortable  for 
herself  in  a  hole  in  a  tree.  It  was  safe  and 
dry,  and  stayed  warm  the  greater  part  of  the 
night  because  the  sun  shone  on  the  entrance 
all  day  long.  Once,  early  in  the  morning,  she 
had  heard  a  woodpecker  rat-a-tat-tatting  on 
the  bark  of  the  trunk,  and  had  lost  no  time  get- 
ting away.  The  drumming  of  a  woodpecker 
is  as  terrifying  to  a  little  insect  in  the  bark  of 
a  tree  as  the  breaking  open  of  our  shutters  by 
a  burglar  would  be  to  us.  But  at  night  she 
was  safe  in  her  lofty  nook.  At  night  no 
creatures  came  prying. 

She  had  sealed  up  part  of  the  entrance  with 
wax,  leaving  just  space  enough  to  slip  in  and 
out;  and  in  a  cranny  in  the  back  of  the  hole, 
where  it  was  dark  and  cool,  she  had  stored  a 
little  honey  against  rainy  days. 

This  morning  she  swung  herself  out  into  the 
sunshine  with  a  cry  of  delight,  all  anticipation 
as  to  what  the  fresh,  lovely  day  might  bring. 
She  sailed  straight  through  the  golden  air, 
looking  like  a  brisk  dot  driven  by  the  wind, 


62  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"I  am  going  to  meet  a  human  being  to-day," 
she  cried.  "I  feel  sure  I  am.  On  days  like 
this  human  beings  must  certainly  be  out  in  the 
open  air  enjoying  nature." 

Never  had  she  met  so  many  insects.  There 
was  a  coming  and  going  and  all  sorts  of  do- 
ings; the  air  was  alive  with  a  humming  and  a 
laughing  and  glad  little  cries.  You  had  to 
join  in,  you  just  had  to  join  in. 

After  a  while  Maya  let  herself  down  into  a 
forest  of  grass,  where  all  sorts  of  plants  and 
flowers  were  growing.  The  highest  were  the 
white  tufts  of  yarrow  and  butterfly-weed — the 
flaming  milkweed  that  drew  you  like  a  magnet. 
She  took  a  sip  of  nectar  from  some  clover  and 
was  about  to  fly  off  again  when  she  saw  a  per- 
fect droll  of  a  beast  perched  on  a  blade  of 
grass  curving  above  her  flower.  She  was  thor- 
oughly scared — he  was  such  a  lean  green  mon- 
ster— but  then  her  interest  was  tremendously 
aroused,  and  she  remained  sitting  still,  as 
though  rooted  to  the  spot,  and  stared  straight 
at  him. 

At  first  glance  you'd  have  thought  he  had 
horns.  Looking  closer  you  saw  it  was  his  oddly 


THE  ACROBAT  63 

protuberant  forehead  that  gave  this  impres- 
sion. Two  long,  long  feelers  fine  as  the  finest 
thread  grew  out  of  his  brows,  and  his  body 
was  the  slimmest  imaginable,  and  green  all 
over,  even  to  his  eyes.  He  had  dainty  forelegs 
and  thin,  inconspicuous  wings  that  couldn't  be 
very  practical,  Maya  thought.  Oddest  of  all 
were  his  great  hindlegs,  which  stuck  up  over 
his  body  like  two  jointed  stilts.  His  sly,  saucy 
expression  was  contradicted  by  the  look  of 
astonishment  in  his  eyes,  and  you  couldn't  say 
there  was  any  meanness  in  his  eyes  either.  No, 
rather  a  lot  of  good  humor. 

"Well,  mademoiselle,"  he  said  to  Maya, 
evidently  annoyed  by  her  surprised  expression, 
"never  seen  a  grasshopper  before?  Or  are 
you  laying  eggs?" 

"The  idea!"  cried  Maya  in  shocked  accents. 
"It  wouldn't  occur  to  me.  Even  if  I  could,  I 
wouldn't.  It  would  be  usurping  the  sacred 
duties  of  our  queen.  I  wouldn't  do  such  a 
foolish  thing." 

The  grasshopper  ducked  his  head  and  made 
such  a  funny  face  that  Maya  had  to  laugh  out 
loud  in  spite  of  her  chagrin. 


64  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  began,  then  had  to 
laugh  himself,  and  said:  "You're  a  easel 
You're  a  case!" 

The  felloe's  behavior  made  Maya  impa- 
tient. 

"Why  do  you  laugh?"  she  asked  in  a  not 
altogether  friendly  tone.  "You  can't  be  se- 
rious expecting  me  to  lay  eggs,  especially  out 
here  on  the  grass." 

There  was  a  snap.  "Hoppety-hop,"  said 
the  grasshopper,  and  was  gone. 

Maya  was  utterly  non-plussed.  Without 
the  help  of  his  wings  he  had  swung  himself 
up  in  the  air  in  a  tremendous  curve. 
Foolhardiness  bordering  on  madness,  she 
thought. 

But  there  he  was  again.  From  where,  she 
couldn't  tell,  but  there  he  was,  beside  her,  on 
a  leaf  of  her  clover. 

He  looked  her  up  and  down,  all  round,  be- 
fore and  behind. 

"No,"  he  said  then,  pertly,  "you  certainly 
can't  lay  eggs.  You're  not  equipped  for  it. 
You  haven't  got  a  borer." 

"What — borer?"     Maya    covered    herself 


THE  ACROBAT  65 

with  her  wings  and  turned  so  that  the  stranger 
could  see  nothing  but  her  face. 

uBorer,  that's  what  I  said. — Don't  fall  off 
your  base,  mademoiselle. — You're  a  wasp, 
aren't  you?" 

To  be  called  a  wasp  1  Nothing  worse  could 
happen  to  little  Maya. 

"I  never!"  she  cried. 

"Hoppety-hop,"  answered  he,  and  was  off 
again. 

"The  fellow  makes  me  nervous,"  she 
thought,  and  decided  to  fly  away.  She  couldn't 
remember  ever  having  been  so  insulted  in  her 
life.  What  a  disgrace  to  be  mistaken  for  a 
wasp,  one  of  those  useless  wasps,  those  tramps, 
those  common  thieves!  It  really  was  infu- 
riating. 

But  there  he  was  again! 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  called  and  turned 
round  part  way,  so  that  his  long  hindlegs 
looked  like  the  hands  of  a  clock  standing  at 
five  minutes  before  half-past  seven,  "made- 
moiselle, you  must  excuse  me  for  interrupting 
our  conversation  now  and  then.  But  sud- 
denly I'm  seized.  I  must  hop.  I  can't  help 


66  MAYA  THE  BEE 

it,  I  must  hop,  no  matter  where.  Can't  you 
hop,  too?" 

He  smiled  a  smile  that  drew  his  mouth  from 
ear  to  ear.  Maya  couldn't  keep  from  laugh- 
ing. 

"Can  you?"  said  the  grasshopper,  and 
nodded  encouragingly. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Maya.  "You're  ter- 
ribly exciting." 

"Why,  everybody  knows  who  I  am,"  said 
the  green  oddity,  and  grinned  almost  beyond 
the  limits  of  his  jaws. 

Maya  never  could  make  out  whether  he 
spoke  in  fun  or  in  earnest. 

"I'm  a  stranger  in  these  parts,"  she  replied 
pleasantly,  "else  I'm  sure  I'd  know  you. — 
But  please  note  that  I  belong  to  the  family  of 
bees,  and  am  positively  not  a  wasp." 

"My  goodness,"  said  the  grasshopper,  "one 
and  the  same  thing." 

Maya  couldn't  utter  a  sound,  she  was  so  ex- 
cited. 

"You're  uneducated,"  she  burst  out  at 
length.  "Take  a  good  look  at  a  wasp  once." 

"Why  should  I?"  answered  the  green  one. 


THE  ACROBAT  67 

"What  good  would  it  do  if  I  observed  dif- 
ferences that  exist  only  in  people's  imagina- 
tion? You,  a  bee,  fly  round  in  the  air,  sting 
everything  you  come  across,  and  can't  hop. 
Exactly  the  same  with  a  wasp.  So  where's 
the  difference?  Hoppety-hopl"  And  he  was 
gone. 

"But  now  I  am  going  to  fly  away,"  thought 
Maya. 

There  he  was  again. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  called,  "there's  going 
to  be  a  hopping-match  to-morrow.  It  will  be 
held  in  the  Reverend  Sinpeck's  garden. 
Would  you  care  to  have  a  complimentary 
ticket  and  watch  the  games?  My  old  woman 
has  two  left  over.  She'll  trade  you  one  for  a 
compliment.  I  expect  to  break  the  record." 

"I'm  not  interested  in  hopping  acrobatics," 
said  Maya  in  some  disgust.  "A  person  who 
flies  has  higher  interests." 

The  grasshopper  grinned  a  grin  you  could 
almost  hear. 

"Don't  think  too  highly  of  yourself,  my  dear 
young  lady.  Most  creatures  in  this  world  can 
fly,  but  only  a  very,  very  few  can  hop.  You 


68  MAYA  THE  BEE 

don't  understand  other  people's  interests.  You 
have  no  vision.  Even  human  beings  would 
like  a  high  elegant  hop.  The  other  day  I  saw 
the  Reverend  Sinpeck  hop  a  yard  up  into  the 
air  to  impress  a  little  snake  that  slid  across 
his  road.  His  contempt  for  anything  that 
couldn't  hop  was  so  great  that  he  threw  away 
his  pipe.  And  reverends,  you  know,  cannot 
live  without  their  pipes.  I  have  known  grass- 
hoppers— members  of  my  own  family — who 
could  hop  to  a  height  three  hundred  times 
their  length.  Now  you're  impressed.  You 
haven't  a  word  to  say.  And  you're  inwardly 
regretting  the  remarks  you  made  and  the  re- 
marks you  intended  to  make.  Three  hundred 
times  their  own  length!  Just  imagine.  Even 
the  elephant,  the  largest  animal  in  the  world, 
can't  hop  as  high  as  that.  Well?  You're  not 
saying  anything.  Didn't  I  tell  you  you 
wouldn't  have  anything  to  say?" 

"But  how  can  I  say  anything  if  you  don't 
give  me  a  chance?" 

"All  right,  then,  talk,"  said  the  grasshopper 
pleasantly.  "Hoppety-hop."  He  was  gone. 

Maya  had  to  laugh  in  spite  of  her  irritation. 


THE  ACROBAT  69 

The  fellow  had  certainly  furnished  her  with 
a  strange  experience.  Buffoon  though  he  was, 
still  she  had  to  admire  his  wide  information 
and  worldly  wisdom;  and  though  she  could 
not  agree  with  his  views  of  hopping,  she  was 
amazed  by  all  the  new  things  he  had  taught 
her  in  their  brief  conversation.  If  he  had 
been  more  reliable  she  would  have  been  only 
too  glad  to  ask  him  questions  about  a  number 
of  different  things.  It  occurred  to  her  that 
often  people  who  are  least  equipped  to  profit 
by  experiences  are  the  very  ones  who  have 
them. 

He  knew  the  names  of  human  beings.  Did 
he,  then,  understand  their  language?  If  he 
came  back,  she'd  ask  him.  And  she'd  also  ask 
him  what  he  thought  of  trying  to  go  near  a 
human  being  or  of  entering  a  human  being's 
house. 

"Mademoiselle!"  A  blade  of  grass  beside 
Maya  was  set  swaying. 

"Goodness  gracious!  Where  do  you  keep 
coming  from?" 

"The  surroundings." 

"But  do  tell,  do  you  hop  out  into  the  world 


70  MAYA  THE  BEE 

just  so,  without  knowing  where  you  mean  to 
land?" 

"Of  course.  Why  not?  Can  you  read  the 
future?  No  one  can.  Only  the  tree-toad,  but 
he  never  tells." 

"The  things  you  know!  Wonderful,  simply 
wonderful ! — Do  you  understand  the  language 
of  human  beings?" 

"That's  a  difficult  question  to  answer,  ma- 
demoiselle, because  it  hasn't  been  proved  as 
yet  whether  human  beings  have  a  language. 
Sometimes  they  utter  sounds  by  which  they 
seem  to  reach  an  understanding  with  each 
other — but  such  awful  sounds  1  So  unmelo- 
dious!  Like  nothing  else  in  nature  that  I 
know  of.  However,  there's  one  thing  you 
must  allow  them :  they  do  seem  to  try  to  make 
their  voices  pleasanter.  Once  I  saw  two  boys 
take  a  blade  of  grass  between  their  thumbs  and 
blow  on  it.  The  result  was  a  whistle  which 
may  be  compared  with  the  chirping  of  a 
cricket,  though  far  inferior  in  quality  of  tone, 
far  inferior.  However,  human  beings  make 
an  honest  effort. — Is  there  anything  else  you'd 
like  to  ask?  I  know  a  thing  or  two." 


THE  ACROBAT  71 

He  grinned  his  almost-audible  grin. 

But  the  next  time  he  hopped  off,  Maya 
waited  for  him  in  vain.  She  looked  about  in 
the  grass  and  the  flowers;  he  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen. 


*> 


^        H 
'-  ^3  > 


CHAPTER  VI 
PUCK 

MAYA,   drowsy  with   the   noonday 
heat,  flew  leisurely  past  the  glare 
on  the  bushes  in  the  garden,  into 
the  cool,  broad-leaved  shelter  of  a  great  chest- 
nut-tree. 

On  the  trodden  sward  in  the  shade  under  the 
tree  stood  chairs  and  tables,  evidently  for 
an  out-door  meal.  A  short  distance  away 
gleamed  the  red-tiled  roof  of  a  peasant's  cot- 
tage, with  thin  blue  columns  of  smoke  curling 
up  from  the  chimneys. 

Now  at  last,  thought  Maya,  she  was  bound 
to  see  a  human  being.  Had  she  not  reached 
the  very  heart  of  his  realm?  The  tree  must 

7* 


PUCK  73 

be  his  property,  and  the  curious  wooden  con- 
trivances in  the  shade  below  must  belong  to 
his  hive. 

Something  buzzed ;  a  fly  alighted  on  the  leaf 
beside  her.  It  ran  up  and  down  the  green 
veining  in  little  jerks.  You  couldn't  see  its 
legs  move,  and  it  seemed  to  be  sliding  about 
excitedly.  Then  it  flew  from  one  finger  of 
the  broad  leaf  to  another,  but  so  quickly  and 
unexpectedly  that  you  might  have  thought  it 
hadn't  flown  but  hopped.  Evidently  it  was 
looking  for  the  most  comfortable  place  on  the 
leaf.  Every  now  and  then,  in  the  suddennest 
way,  it  would  swing  itself  up  in  the  air  a  short 
space  and  buzz  vehemently,  as  though  some- 
thing dreadfully  untoward  had  occurred,  or 
as  though  it  were  animated  by  some  tremen- 
dous purpose.  Then  it  would  drop  back  to 
the  leaf,  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  re- 
sume its  jerky  racing  up  and  down.  Lastly, 
it  would  sit  quite  still,  like  a  rigid  image. 

Maya  watched  its  antics  in  the  sunshine, 
then  approached  it  and  said  politely: 

"How  do  you  do?  Welcome  to  my  leaf. 
You  are  a  fly,  are  you  not?" 


74  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"What  else  do  you  take  me  for?"  said  the 
little  one.  "My  name  is  Puck.  I  am  very 
busy.  Do  you  want  to  drive  me  away?" 

"Why,  not  at  all.  I  am  glad  to  make  your 
acquaintance." 

"I  believe  you,"  was  all  Puck  said,  and  with 
that  he  tried  to  pull  his  head  off. 

"Mercyl"  cried  Maya. 

"I  must  do  this.  You  don't  understand.  It's 
something  you  know  nothing  about,"  Puck 
rejoined  calmly,  and  slid  his  legs  over  his 
wings  till  they  curved  round  the  tip  of  his 
body,  "I'm  more  than  a  fly,"  he  added  with 
some  pride.  "I'm  a  housefly.  I  flew  out  here 
for  the  fresh  air." 

"How  interesting!"  exclaimed  Maya  glee- 
fully. "Then  you  must  know  all  about  human 
beings." 

"As  well  as  the  pockets  of  my  trousers," 
Puck  threw  out  disdainfully.  "I  sit  on  them 
every  day.  Didn't  you  know  that?  I  thought 
you  bees  were  so  clever.  You  pretend  to  be  at 
any  rate." 

"My  name  is  Maya,"  said  the  little  bee 
rather  shyly.  Where  the  other  insects  got 


PUCK  75 

their  self-assurance,  to  say  nothing  of  their  in- 
solence, she  couldn't  understand. 

"Thanks  for  the  information.  Whatever 
your  name,  you're  a  simpleton." 

Puck  sat  there  tilted  like  a  cannon  in  posi- 
tion to  be  fired  off,  his  head  and  breast  thrust 
upward,  the  hind  tip  of  his  body  resting  on 
the  leaf.  Suddenly  he  ducked  his  head  and 
squatted  down,  so  that  he  looked  as  if  he  had 
no  legs. 

"You've  got  to  watch  out  and  be  careful," 
he  said.  "That's  the  most  important  thing 
of  all." 

But  an  angry  wave  of  resentment  was  surg- 
ing in  little  Maya.  The  insult  Puck  had  of- 
fered her  was  too  much.  Without  really 
knowing  what  made  her  do  it,  she  pounced  on 
him  quick  as  lightning,  caught  him  by  the 
collar  and  held  him  tight. 

"I  will  teach  you  to  be  polite  to  a  bee,"  she 
cried. 

Puck  set  up  an  awful  howl. 

"Don't  sting  me,"  he  screamed.  "It's  the 
only  thing  you  can  do,  but  it's  killing.  Please 
remove  the  back  of  your  body.  That's  where 


76  MAYA  THE  BEE 

your  sting  is.  And  let  me  go,  please  let  me 
go,  if  you  possibly  can.  I'll  do  anything  you 
say.  Can't  you  understand  a  joke,  a  mere 
joke?  Everybody  knows  that  you  bees  are  the 
most  respected  of  all  insects,  and  the  most 
powerful,  and  the  most  numerous.  Only 
don't  kill  me,  please  don't.  There  won't  be 
any  bringing  me  back  to  life.  Good  God! 
No  one  appreciates  my  humor!" 

"Very  well,"  said  Maya  with  a  touch  of 
contempt  in  her  heart,  "I'll  let  you  live  on 
condition  that  you  tell  me  everything  you 
know  about  human  beings." 

"Gladly,"  cried  Puck.  "I'd  have  told  you 
anyhow.  But  please  let  me  go  now." 

Maya  released  him.  She  had  stopped  car- 
ing. Her  respect  for  the  fly  and  any  confi- 
dence she  might  have  had  in  him  were  gone. 
Of  what  value  could  the  experiences  of  so 
low,  so  vulgar  a  creature  be  to  serious-minded 
people?  She  would  have  to  find  out  about 
human  beings  for  herself. 

The  lesson,  however,  had  not  been  wasted. 
Puck  was  much  more  endurable  now.  Scold- 
ing and  growling  he  set  himself  to  rights.  He 


PUCK  77 

smoothed  down  his  feelers  and  wings  and  the 
minute  hairs  on  his  black  body — which  were 
fearfully  rumpled;  for  the  girl-bee  had  laid 
on  good  and  hard — and  concluded  the  opera- 
tion by  running  his  proboscis  in  and  out  sev- 
eral times — something  new  to  Maya. 

"Out  of  joint,  completely  out  of  joint  I"  he 
muttered  in  a  pained  tone.  "Comes  of  your 
excited  way  of  doing  things.  Look.  See  for 
yourself.  The  sucking-disk  at  the  end  of 
my  proboscis  looks  like  a  twisted  pewter 
plate." 

"Have  you  a  sucking-disk?"  asked  Maya. 

"Goodness  gracious,  of  course! — Now  tell 
me.  What  do  you  want  to  know  about  human 
beings? — Never  mind  about  my  proboscis  be- 
ing out  of  joint.  It'll  be  all  right. — I  think  I 
had  best  tell  you  a  few  things  from  my  own 
life.  You  see,  I  grew  up  among  human  be- 
ings, so  you'll  hear  just  what  you  want  to 
know." 

"You  grew  up  among  human  beings?" 

"Of  course.  It  was  in  the  corner  of  their 
room  that  my  mother  laid  the  egg  from  which 
I  came.  I  made  my  first  attempts  to  walk  on 


78  MAYA  THE  BEE 

their  window-shades,  and  I  tested  the  strength 
of  my  wings  by  flying  from  Schiller  to 
Goethe." 

"What  are  Schiller  and  Goethe?" 

"Statues,"  explained  Puck,  very  superior, 
"statues  of  two  men  who  seem  to  have  dis- 
tinguished themselves.  They  stand  under  the 
mirror,  one  on  the  right  hand  and  one  on  the 
left  hand,  and  nobody  pays  any  attention  to 
them." 

"What's  a  mirror?  And  why  do  the  statues 
stand  under  the  mirror?" 

"A  mirror  is  good  for  seeing  your  belly 
when  you  crawl  on  it.  It's  very  amusing. 
When  human  beings  go  up  to  a  mirror,  they 
either  put  their  hands  up  to  their  hair,  or  pull 
at  their  beards.  When  they  are  alone,  they 
smile  into  the  mirror,  but  if  somebody  else  is 
in  the  room  they  look  very  serious.  What  the 
purpose  of  it  is,  I  could  never  make  out. 
Seems  to  be  some  useless  game  of  theirs.  I 
myself,  when  I  was  still  a  child,  suffered  a 
good  deal  from  the  mirror.  I'd  fly  into  it  and 
of  course  be  thrown  back  violently." 

Maya  plied  Puck  with  more  questions  about 


PUCK  79 

the  mirror,  which  he  found  very  difficult  to 
answer. 

"Here,"  he  said  at  last,  "you've  certainly 
flown  over  the  smooth  surface  of  water, 
haven't  you?  Well,  a  mirror  is  something 
like  it,  only  hard  and  upright." 

The  little  fly,  seeing  that  Maya  listened 
most  respectfully  and  attentively  to  the  tale 
of  his  experiences,  became  a  good  deal  pleas- 
anter  in  his  manners.  And  as  for  Maya's 
opinion  of  Puck,  although  she  didn't  believe 
everything  he  told  her,  still  she  was  sorry  she 
had  thought  so  slightingly  of  him  earlier  in 
their  meeting. 

"Often  people  are  far  more  Sensible  than 
we  take  them  to  be  at  first,"  she  told  herself. 

Puck  went  on  with  his  story. 

"It  took  a  long  time  for  me  to  get  to  under- 
stand their  language.  Now  at  last  I  know 
what  they  want.  It  isn't  much,  because  they 
usually  say  the  same  thing  every  day." 

"I  can  scarcely  believe  it,"  said  Maya. 
"Why,  they  have  so  many  interests,  and  think 
so  many  things,  and  do  so  many  things.  Cas- 
sandra told  me  that  they  build  cities  so  big 


8o  MAYA  THE  BEE 

that  you  can't  fly  round  them  in  one  day, 
towers  as  high  as  the  nuptial  flight  of  our 
queen,  houses  that  float  on  the  water,  and 
houses  that  glide  across  the  country  on  two 
narrow  silver  paths  and  go  faster  than  birds." 

"Wait  a  moment!"  said  Puck  energetically. 
"Who  is  Cassandra?  Who  is  she,  if  I  may 
make  so  bold  as  to  ask?  Well?" 

"Oh,  she  was  my  teacher." 

"Teacher!"  repeated  Puck  contemptuously. 
"Probably  also  a  bee.  Who  but  a  bee  would 
overestimate  human  beings  like  that?  Your 
Miss  Cassandra,  or  whatever  her  name  is, 
doesn't  know  her  history.  Those  cities  and 
towers  and  other  human  devices  you  speak 
of  are  none  of  them  any  good  to  us.  Who 
would  take  such  an  impractical  view  of  the 
world  as  you  do?  If  you  don't  accept  the 
premise  that  the  earth  is  dominated  by  the 
flies,  that  the  flies  are  the  most  widespread  and 
most  important  race  on  earth,  you'll  scarcely 
get  a  real  knowledge  of  the  world." 

Puck  took  a  few  excited  zigzag  turns  on  the 
leaf  and  pulled  at  his  head,  to  Maya's  intense 
concern.  However,  the  little  bee  had  ob- 


PUCK  81 

served  by  this  time  that  there  wasn't  much 
sense  to  be  got  out  of  his  head  any  way. 

"Do  you  know  how  you  can  tell  I  am  right?" 
asked  Puck,  rubbing  his  hands  together  as  if 
to  tie  them  in  a  knot.  "Count  the  number  of 
people  and  the  number  of  flies  in  any  room. 
The  result  will  surprise  you." 

"You  may  be  right.  But  that's  not  the 
point." 

"Do  you  think  I  was  born  this  year?"  Puck 
demanded  all  of  a  sudden. 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  passed  through  a  winter,"  Puck  an- 
nounced, all  pride.  "My  experiences  date 
back  to  the  ice  age.  In  a  sense  they  take  me 
through  the  ice  age.  That's  why  I'm  here — 
I'm  here  to  recuperate." 

"Whatever  else  you  may  be,  you  certainly 
are  spunky,"  remarked  Maya. 

"I  should"  say  so,"  exclaimed  Puck,  and 
made  an  airy  leap  out  into  the  sunshine.  "The 
flies  are  the  boldest  race  in  creation.  We  never 
run  away  unless  it  is  better  to  run  away,  and 
then  we  always  come  back. — Have  you  ever 
sat  on  a  human  being?" 


82  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"No,"  said  Maya,  looking  at  the  fly  distrust- 
fully out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye.  She  still 
didn't  know  quite  what  to  make  of  him.  "No, 
I'm  not  interested  in  sitting  on  human  beings." 

"Ah,  dear  child,  that's  because  you  don't 
know  what  it  is.  If  ever  you  had  seen  the  fun 
I  have  with  the  man  at  home,  you'd  turn  green 
with  envy.  I'll  tell  you. — In  my  room  there 
lives  an  elderly  man  who  cherishes  the  color 
of  his  nose  by  means  of  a  peculiar  drink,  which 
he  keeps  hidden  in  the  corner  cupboard.  It 
has  a  sweet,  intoxicating  smell.  When  he  goes 
to  get  it  he  smiles,  and  his  eyes  grow  small. 
He  takes  a  little  glass,  and  he  looks  up  to  the 
ceiling  while  he  drinks,  to  see  if  I  am  there. 
I  nod  down  to  him,  and  he  passes  his  hand 
over  his  forehead,  nose  and  mouth  to  show  me 
where  I  am  to  sit  later  on.  Then  he  blinks, 
and  opens  his  mouth  as  wide  as  he  can,  and 
pulls  down  the  shade  to  keep  the  afternoon 
sun  from  bothering  us.  Finally  he  lays  him- 
self down  on  a  something  called  a  sofa,  and  in 
a  short  while  begins  to  make  dull  snuffling 
sounds.  I  suppose  he  thinks  the  sounds  are 
beautiful.  We'll  talk  about  them  some  other 


PUCK  83 

time.  They  are  man's  slumber  song.  For  me 
they  are  the  sign  that  I  am  to  come  down.  The 
first  thing  I  do  is  to  take  my  portion  from  the 
glass,  which  he  left  for  me.  There's  some- 
thing tremendously  stimulating  about  a  drop 
like  that.  I  understand  human  beings.  Then 
I  fly  over  and  take  my  place  on  the  forehead 
of  the  sleeping  man.  The  forehead  lies  be- 
tween the  nose  and  the  hair  and  serves  for 
thinking.  You  can  tell  it  does  from  the  long 
furrows  that  go  from  right  to  left.  They  must 
move  whenever  a  man  thinks  if  something 
worth  while  is  to  result  from  his  thinking. 
The  forehead  also  shows  if  human  beings  are 
annoyed.  But  then  the  folds  run  up  and  down, 
and  a  round  cavity  forms  over  the  nose.  As 
soon  as  I  settle  on  his  forehead  and  begin  to 
run  to  and  fro  in  the  furrows,  the  man  makes 
a  snatch  in  the  air  with  his  hands.  He  thinks 
I'm  somewhere  in  the  air.  That's  because 
I'm  sitting  on  his  think-furrows,  and  he  can't 
work  out  so  quickly  where  I  really  am.  At 
last  he  does.  He  mutters  and  jabs  at  me.  Now 
then,  Miss  Maya,  or  whatever  your  name  is, 
now  then,  you've  got  to  have  your  wits  about 


84  MAYA  THE  BEE 

you.  I  see  the  hand  coming,  but  I  wait  until 
the  last  moment,  then  I  fly  nimbly  to  one  side, 
sit  down,  and  watch  him  feel  to  see  if  I  am 
still  there. — We  kept  the  game  up  often  for 
a  full  half  hour.  You  have  no  idea  what  a  lot 
of  endurance  the  man  has.  Finally  he  jumps 
up  and  pours  out  a  string  of  words  which  show 
how  ungrateful  he  is.  Well,  what  of  it?  A 
noble  soul  seeks  no  reward.  I'm  already  up 
on  the  ceiling  listening  to  his  ungrateful  out- 
burst." 

"I  can't  say  I  particularly  like  it,"  observed 
Maya.  "Isn't  it  rather  useless?" 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  erect  a  honeycomb  on 
his  nose?"  exclaimed  Puck.  "You  have  no 
sense  of  humor,  dear  girl.  What  do  you  do 
that's  useful?" 

Little  Maya  went  red  all  over,  but  quickly 
collected  herself  to  hide  her  embarrassment 
from  Puck. 

"The  time  is  coming,"  she  flashed,  "when  I 
shall  do  something  big  and  splendid,  and  good 
and  useful  too.  But  first  I  want  to  see  what  is 
going  on  in  the  world.  Deep  down  in  my 
heart  I  feel  that  the  time  is  coming." 


PUCK  85 

As  Maya  spoke  she  felt  a  hot  tide  of  hope 
and  enthusiasm  flood  her  being. 

Puck  seemed  not  to  realize  how  serious  she 
was,  and  how  deeply  stirred.  He  zigzagged 
about  in  his  flurried  way  for  a  while,  then 
asked : 

"You  don't  happen  to  have  any  honey  with 
you,  do  you,  my  dear?" 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  replied  Maya.  "I'd  gladly 
let  you  have  some,  especially  after  you've  en- 
tertained me  so  pleasantly,  but  I  really  haven't 
got  any  with  me. — May  I  ask  you  one  more 
question?" 

"Shoot,"  said  Puck.  "I'll  answer,  I'll  al- 
ways answer." 

"I'd  like  to  know  how  I  could  get  into  a 
human  being's  house." 

"Fly  in,"  said  Puck  sagaciously. 

"But  how,  without  running  into  danger?" 

"Wait  until  a  window  is  opened.  But  be 
sure  to  find  the  way  out  again.  Once  you're 
inside,  if  you  can't  find  the  window,  the 
best  thing  to  do  is  to  fly  toward  the  light. 
You'll  always  find  plenty  of  windows  in 
every  house.  You  need  only  notice  where  the 


86  MAYA  THE  BEE 

sun  shines  through.    Are  you  going  already?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Maya,  holding  out  her  hand. 
"I  have  some  things  to  attend  to.  Good-by. 
I  hope  you  quite  recover  from  the  effects  of 
the  ice  age." 

And  with  her  fine  confident  buzz  that  yet 
sounded  slightly  anxious,  little  Maya  raised 
her  gleaming  wings  and  flew  out  into  the  sun- 
shine across  to  the  flowery  meadows  to  cull  a 
little  nourishment. 

Puck  looked  after  her,  and  carefully  medi- 
tated what  might  still  be  said.  Then  he  ob- 
served thoughtfully: 

"Well,  now.    Well,  well.— Why  not?" 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  THE  TOILS 

ATER  her  meeting  with  Puck  the  fly 
Maya  was  not  in  a  particularly  happy 
frame  of  mind.  She  could  not  bring 
herself  to  believe  that  he  was  right  in  every- 
thing he  had  said  about  human  beings,  or 
right  in  his  relations  to  them.  She  had  formed 
an  entirely  different  conception — a  much  finer, 
lovelier  picture,  and  she  fought  against  letting 
her  mind  harbor  low  or  ridiculous  ideas  of 
mankind.  Yet  she  was  still  afraid  to  enter  a 
human  dwelling.  How  was  she  to  know 
whether  or  not  the  owner  would  like  it?  And 
she  wouldn't  for  all  the  world  make  herself  a 
burden  to  anyone. 

87 


88  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Her  thoughts  went  back  once  more  to  the 
things  Cassandra  had  told  her. 

"They  are  good  and  wise,"  Cassandra  had 
said.  "They  are  strong  and  powerful,  but 
they  never  abuse  their  power.  On  the  con- 
trary, wherever  they  go  they  bring  order  and 
prosperity.  We  bees,  knowing  they  are 
friendly  to  us,  put  ourselves  under  their  pro- 
tection and  share  our  honey  with  them.  They 
leave  us  enough  for  the  winter,  they  provide 
us  with  shelter  against  the  cold,  and  guard  us 
against  the  hosts  of  our  enemies  among  the 
animals.  There  are  few  creatures  in  the 
world  who  have  entered  into  such  a  relation 
of  friendship  and  voluntary  service  with  hu- 
man beings.  Among  the  insects  you  will  often 
hear  voices  raised  to  speak  evil  of  man.  Don't 
listen  to  them.  If  a  foolish  tribe  of  bees  ever 
returns  to  the  wild  and  tries  to  do  without 
human  beings,  it  soon  perishes.  There  are  too 
many  beasts  that  hanker  for  our  honey,  and 
often  a  whole  bee-city — all  its  buildings,  all  its 
inhabitants — has  been  ruthlessly  destroyed, 
merely  because  a  senseless  animal  wanted  to 
satisfy  its  greed  for  honey." 


IN  THE  TOILS  89 

That  is  what  Cassandra  had  told  Maya 
about  human  beings,  and  until  Maya  had  con- 
vinced herself  of  the  contrary,  she  wanted  to 
keep  this  belief  in  them. 

It  was  now  afternoon.  The  sun  was  drop- 
ping behind  the  fruit  trees  in  a  large  vegetable 
garden  through  which  Maya  was  flying.  The 
trees  were  long  past  flowering,  but  the  little 
bee  still  remembered  them  in  the  shining  glory 
of  countless  blossoms,  whiter  than  light, 
lovely,  pure,  and  exquisite  against  the  blue  of 
the  heavens.  The  delicious  perfume,  the 
gleam  and  the  srnmmer — oh,  she'd  never  for- 
get the  rapture  of  it  as  long  as  she  lived. 

As  she  flew  she  thought  of  how  all  that 
beauty  would  come  again,  and  her  heart  ex- 
panded with  delight  in  the  glory  of  the  great 
world  in  which  she  was  permitted  to  live. 

At  the  end  of  the  garden  shone  the  starry 
tufts  of  the  Jasmine — delicate  yellow  faces  set 
in  a  wreath  of  pure  white — sweet  perfume 
wafted  to  Maya  on  the  soft  wings  of  the 
breeze. 

And  weren't  there  still  some  trees  in  bloom? 
Wasn't  it  the  season  for  lindens?  Maya 


90  MAYA  THE  BEE 

thought  delightedly  of  the  big  serious  lindens, 
whose  tops  held  the  red  glow  of  the  setting  sun 
to  the  very  last. 

She  flew  in  among  the  stems  of  the  black- 
berry vines,  which  were  putting  forth  green 
berries  and  yielding  blossoms  at  the  same  time. 
As  she  mounted  again  to  reach  the  jasmine, 
something  strange  to  the  touch  suddenly  laid 
itself  across  her  forehead  and  shoulders,  and 
just  as  quickly  covered  her  wings.  It  was  the 
queerest  sensation,  as  if  her  wings  were  crip- 
pled and  she  were  suddenly  restrained  in  her 
flight,  and  were  falling,  helplessly  falling.  A 
secret,  wicked  force  seemed  to  be  holding  her 
feelers,  her  legs,  her  wings  in  invisible  cap- 
tivity. But  she  did  not  fall.  Though  she 
could  no  longer  move  her  wings,  she  still  hung 
in  the  air  rocking,  caught  by  a  marvelously 
yielding  softness  and  delicacy,  raised  a  little, 
lowered  a  little,  tossed  here,  tossed  there,  like 
a  loose  leaf  in  a  faint  breeze. 

Maya  was  troubled,  but  not  as  yet  actually 
terrified.  Why  should  she  be?  There  was 
no  pain  nor  real  discomfort  of  any  sort.  Sim- 
ply that  it  was  so  peculiar,  so  very  peculiar, 


IN  THE  TOILS  91 

and  something  bad  seemed  to  be  lurking  in  the 
background.  She  must  get  on.  If  she  tried 
very  hard,  she  could,  assuredly. 

But  now  she  saw  a  thread  across  her  breast, 
an  elastic  silvery  thread  finer  than  the  finest 
silk.  She  clutched  at  it  quickly,  in  a  cold 
wave  of  terror.  It  clung  to  her  hand;  it 
wouldn't  shake  off.  And  there  ran  another 
silver  thread  over  her  shoulders.  It  drew 
itself  across  her  wings  and  tied  them  together 
— her  wings  were  powerless.  And  there,  and 
there!  Everywhere  in  the  air  and  above  her 
body — those  bright,  glittering,  gluey  threads! 

Maya  screamed  with  horror.  Now  she 
knew!  Oh — oh,  now  she  knew!  She  was  in 
a  spider's  web. 

Her  terrified  shrieks  rang  out  in  the  silent 
dome  of  the  summer  day,  where  the  sunshine 
touched  the  green  of  the  leaves  into  gold,  and 
insects  flitted  to  and  fro,  and  birds  swooped 
gaily  from  tree  to  tree.  Nearby,  the  jasmine 
sent  its  perfume  into  the  air — the  jas- 
mine she  had  wanted  to  reach.  Now  all  was 
over. 

A  small  bluish  butterfly,  with  brown  dots 


92  MAYA  THE  BEE 

gleaming  like  copper  on  its  wings,  came  flying 
very  close. 

"Oh,  you  poor  soul,"  it  cried,  hearing 
Maya's  screams  and  seeing  her  desperate 
plight.  "May  your  death  be  an  easy  one, 
lovely  child.  I  cannot  help  you.  Some  day, 
perhaps  this  very  night,  I  shall  meet  with  the 
same  fate.  But  meanwhile  life  is  still  lovely 
for  me.  Good-by.  Don't  forget  the  sunshine 
in  the  deep  sleep  of  death." 

And  the  blue  butterfly  rocked  away, 
drugged  by  the  sunshine  and  the  flowers  and 
its  own  joy  of  living. 

The  tears  streamed  from  Maya's  eyes;  she 
lost  her  last  shred  of  self-control.  She  tossed 
her  captive  body  to  and  fro,  and  buzzed  as 
loud  as  she  could,  and  screamed  for  help — 
from  whom  she  did  not  know.  But  the  more 
she  tossed  the  tighter  she  enmeshed  herself 
in  the  web.  Now,  in  her  great  agony, 
Cassandra's  warnings  went  through  her 
mind: 

"Beware  of  the  spider  and  its  web.  If  we 
bees  fall  into  the  spider's  power  we  suffer  the 
most  gruesome  death.  The  spider  is  heartless 


IN  THE  TOILS  93 

and  tricky,  and  once  it  has  a  person  in  its  toils, 
it  never  lets  him  go." 

In  a  great  flare  of  mortal  terror  Maya  made 
one  huge  desperate  effort.  Somewhere  one  of 
the  long,  heavier  suspension  threads  snapped. 
Maya  felt  it  break,  yet  at  the  same  time  she 
sensed  the  awful  doom  of  the  cobweb.  This 
was,  that  the  more  one  struggled  in  it,  the 
more  effectively  and  dangerously  it  worked. 
She  gave  up,  in  complete  exhaustion. 

At  that  moment  she  saw  the  spider  herself — 
very  near,  under  a  blackberry  leaf.  At  sight 
of  the  great  monster,  silent  and  serious, 
crouching  there  as  if  ready  to  pounce,  Maya's 
horror  was  indescribable.  The  wicked  shin- 
ing eyes  were  fastened  on  the  little  bee  in 
sinister,  cold-blooded  patience. 

Maya  gave  one  loud  shriek.  This  was  the 
worst  agony  of  all.  Death  itself  could  look 
no  worse  than  that  grey,  hairy  monster  with 
her  mean  fangs  and  the  raised  legs  supporting 
her  fat  body  like  a  scaffolding.  She  would 
come  rushing  upon  her,  and  then  all  would 
be  over. 

Now  a  dreadful  fury  of  anger  came  upon 


94  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Maya,  such  as  she  had  never  felt  before.  For- 
getting her  great  agony,  intent  only  upon  one 
thing — selling  her  life  as  dearly  as  possible — 
she  uttered  her  clear,  alarming  battle-cry, 
which  all  beasts  knew  and  dreaded. 

"You  will  pay  for  your  cunning  with  death," 
she  shouted  at  the  spider.  "Just  come  and  try 
to  kill  me,  you'll  find  out  what  a  bee  can  do." 

The  spider  did  not  budge.  She  really  was 
uncanny  and  must  have  terrified  bigger  crea- 
tures than  little  Maya. 

Strong  in  her  anger,  Maya  now  made  an- 
other violent,  desperate  effort.  Snap!  One  of 
the  long  suspension  threads  above  her  broke. 
The  web  was  probably  meant  for  flies  and 
gnats,  not  for  such  large  insects  as  bees. 

But  Maya  got  herself  only  more  en- 
tangled. 

In  one  gliding  motion  the  spider  drew  quite 
close  to  Maya.  She  swung  by  her  nimble  legs 
upon  a  single  thread  with  her  body  hanging 
straight  downward. 

"What  right  have  you  to  break  my  net?" 
she  rasped  at  Maya.  "What  are  you  doing 
here?  Isn't  the  world  big  enough  for  you? 


IN  THE  TOILS  95 

Why  do  you   disturb   a   peaceful   recluse?" 

That  was  not  what  Maya  had  expected  to 
hear.  Most  certainly  not. 

"I  didn't  mean  to,"  she  cried,  quivering  with 
glad  hope.  Ugly  as  the  spider  was,  still  she  did 
not  seem  to  intend  any  harm.  "I  didn't  see 
your  web  and  I  got  tangled  in  it.  I'm  so 
sorry.  Please  pardon  me." 

The  spider  drew  nearer. 

"You're  a  funny  little  body,"  she  said,  let- 
ting go  of  the  thread  first  with  one  leg,  then 
with  the  other.  The  delicate  thread  shook. 
How  wonderful  that  it  could  support  the  great 
creature. 

"Oh,  do  help  me  out  of  this,"  begged  Maya, 
"I  should  be  so  grateful." 

"That's  what  I  came  here  for,"  said  the 
spider,  and  smiled  strangely.  For  all  her 
smiling  she  looked  mean  and  deceitful.  "Your 
tossing  and  tugging  spoils  the  whole  web. 
Keep  quiet  one  second,  and  I  will  set  you 
free." 

"Oh,  thanks!  Ever  so  many  thanks  1"  cried 
Maya. 

The  spider  was  now  right  beside  her.    She 


96  MAYA  THE  BEE 

examined  the  web  carefully  to  see  how  se- 
curely Maya  was  entangled. 

"How  about  your  sting?"  she  asked. 

Ugh,  how  mean  and  horrid  she  looked! 
Maya  fairly  shivered  with  disgust  at  the 
thought  that  she  was  going  to  touch  her,  but 
replied  as  pleasantly  as  she  could : 

"Don't  trouble  about  my  sting.  I  will  draw 
it  in,  and  nobody  can  hurt  himself  on  it 
then." 

"I  should  hope  not,"  said  the  spider.  "Now, 
then,  look  out!  Keep  quiet.  Too  bad  for  my 
web." 

Maya  remained  still.  Suddenly  she  felt  her- 
self being  whirled  round  and  round  on  the 
same  spot,  till  she  got  dizzy  and  sick  and  had 
to  close  her  eyes. — But  what  was  that?  She 
opened  her  eyes  quickly.  Horrors!  She  was 
completely  enmeshed  in  a  fresh  sticky  thread 
which  the  spider  must  have  had  with  her. 

"My  God!"  cried  little  Maya  softly,  in  a 
quivering  voice.  That  was  all  she  said.  Now 
she  saw  how  tricky  the  spider  had  been ;  now 
she  was  really  caught  beyond  release;  now 
there  was  absolutely  no  chance  of  escape.  She 


IN  THE  TOILS  97 

could  no  longer  move  any  part  of  her  body. 
The  end  was  near. 

Her  fury  of  anger  was  gone,  there  was  only 
a  great  sadness  in  her  heart. 

"I  didn't  know  there  was  such  meanness 
and  wickedness  in  the  world,"  she  thought. 
"The  deep  night  of  death  is  upon  me.  Good- 
by,  dear  bright  sun.  Good-by,  my  dear  friend- 
bees.  Why  did  I  leave  you?  A  happy  life  to 
you.  I  must  die." 

The  spider  sat  wary,  a  little  to  one  side. 
She  was  still  afraid  of  Maya's  sting. 

"Well?"  she  jeered.  "How  are  you  feeling, 
little  girl?" 

Maya  was  too  proud  to  answer  the  false 
creature.  She  merely  said,  after  a  while  when 
she  felt  she  couldn't  bear  any  more; 

"Please  kill  me  right  away." 

"Really!"  said  the  spider,  tying  a  few  torn 
threads  together.  "Really!  Do  you  take  me 
to  be  as  big  a  dunce  as  yourself?  You're  go- 
ing to  die  anyhow,  if  you're  kept  hanging  long 
enough,  and  that's  the  time  for  me  to  suck  the 
blood  out  of  you — when  you  can't  sting.  Too 
bad,  though,  that  you  can't  see  how  dreadfully 


98  MAYA  THE  BEE 

you've  damaged  my  lovely  web.  Then  you'd 
realize  that  you  deserve  to  die." 

She  dropped  down  to  the  ground,  laid  the 
end  of  the  newly  spun  thread  about  a  stone, 
and  pulled  it  in  tight.  Then  she  ran  up  again, 
caught  hold  of  the  thread  by  which  little  en- 
meshed Maya  hung,  and  dragged  her  captive 
along. 

"You're  going  into  the  shade,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "so  that  you  shall  not  dry  up  out  here  in 
the  sunshine.  Besides,  hanging  here  you're 
like  a  scarecrow,  you'll  frighten  away  other 
nice  little  mortals  who  don't  watch  where 
they're  going.  And  sometimes  the  sparrows 
come  and  rob  my  web. — To  let  you  know  with 
whom  you're  dealing,  my  name  is  Thekla,  of 
the  family  of  cross-spiders.  You  needn't  tell 
me  your  name.  It  makes  no  difference. 
You're  a  fat  bit,  and  you'll  taste  just  as  tender 
and  juicy  by  any  name." 

So  little  Maya  hung  in  the  shade  of  the 
blackberry  vine,  close  to  the  ground,  com- 
pletely at  the  mercy  of  the  cruel  spider,  who 
intended  her  to  die  by  slow  starvation.  Hang- 
ing with  her  little  head  downward — a  fearful 


IN  THE  TOILS  99 

position  to  be  in — she  soon  felt  she  would  not 
last  many  more  minutes.  She  whimpered 
softly,  and  her  cries  for  help  grew  feebler  and 
feebler.  Who  was  there  to  hear?  Her  folk 
at  home  knew  nothing  of  this  catastrophe,  so 
they  couldn't  come  hurrying  to  her  rescue. 

Suddenly  down,  in  the  grass,  she  heard 
some  one  growling: 

"Make  way!    I'm  coming." 

Maya's  agonized  heart  began  to  beat  storm- 
ily.  She  recognized  the  voice  of  Bobbie,  the 
dung-beetle. 

"Bobbie,"  she  called,  as  loud  as  she  could, 
"Bobbie,  dear  Bobbie!" 

"Make  way!    I'm  coming." 

"But  I'm  not  in  your  way,  Bobbie,"  cried 
Maya.  "Oh  dear,  I'm  hanging  over  your  head. 
The  spider  has  caught  me." 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Bobbie.  "So  many 
people  know  me.  You  know  they  do,  don't 
you?" 

"I  am  Maya — Maya,  the  bee.  Oh  please, 
please  help  me!" 

"Maya?  Maya? — Ah,  now  I  remember. 
You  made  my  acquaintance  several  weeks  ago. 


ioo  MAYA  THE  BEE 

— The  deuce!  You  are  in  a  bad  way,  if  I 
must  say  so  myself.  You  certainly  do  need  my 
help.  As  I  happen  to  have  a  few  moments' 
time,  I  won't  refuse." 

"Oh,  Bobbie,  can  you  tear  these  threads?" 

"Tear  those  threads!  Do  you  mean  to  in- 
sult me?"  Bobbie  slapped  the  muscles  of  his 
arm.  "Look,  little  girl.  Hard  as  steel.  No 
match  for  that  in  strength.  I  can  do  more 
than  smash  a  few  cobwebs.  You'll  see  some- 
thing that'll  make  you  open  your  eyes." 

Bobbie  crawled  up  on  the  leaf,  caught  hold 
of  the  thread  by  which  Maya  was  hanging, 
clung  to  it,  then  let  go  of  the  leaf.  The  thread 
broke,  and  they  both  fell  to  the  ground. 

"That's  only  the  beginning,"  said  Bobbie. 
—"But  Maya,  you're  trembling.  My  dear 
child,  you  poor  little  girl,  how  pale  you  are! 
Now  who  would  be  so  afraid  of  death?  You 
must  look  death  calmly  in  the  face  as  I  do. 
So.  I'll  unwrap  you  now." 

Maya  could  not  utter  a  syllable.  Bright 
tears  of  joy  ran  down  her  cheeks.  She  was 
to  be  free  again,  fly  again  in  the  sunshine, 
wherever  she  wished.  She  was  to  live. 


IN  THE  TOILS  101 

But  then  she  saw  the  spider  coming  down 
the  blackberry  vine. 

"Bobbie,"  she  screamed,  "the  spider's  com- 
ing." 

Bobbie  went  on  unperturbed,  merely  laugh- 
ing to  himself.  He  really  was  an  extraor- 
dinarily strong  insect. 

"She'll  think  twice  before  she  comes 
nearer,"  he  said. 

But  there!  The  vile  voice  rasped  above 
them: 

"Robbers  1  Help!  I'm  being  robbed.  You 
fat  lump,  what  are  you  doing  with  my  prey?" 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  madam,"  said  Bob- 
bie. "I  have  a  right,  haven't  I,  to  talk  to  my 
friend.  If  you  say  another  word  to  displease 
me,  I'll  tear  your  whole  web  to  shreds.  Well? 
Why  so  silent  all  of  a  sudden?" 

"I  am  defeated,"  said  the  spider. 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case,"  ob- 
served Bobbie.  "Now  you'd  better  be  getting 
away  from  here." 

The  spider  cast  a  look  at  Bobbie  full  of  hate 
and  venom ;  but  glancing  up  at  her  web  she  re- 
considered, and  turned  away  slowly,  furious, 


102  MAYA  THE  BEE 

scolding  and  growling  under  her  breath. 
Fangs  and  stings  were  of  no  avail.  They 
wouldn't  even  leave  a  mark  on  armor  such  as 
Bobbie  wore.  With  violent  denunciations 
against  the  injustice  in  the  world,  the  spider 
hid  herself  away  inside  a  withered  leaf,  from 
which  she  could  spy  out  and  watch  over  her 
web. 

Meanwhile  Bobbie  finished  the  unwrapping 
of  Maya.  He  tore  the  network  and  released 
her  legs  and  wings.  The  rest  she  could  do 
herself.  She  preened  herself  happily.  But 
she  had  to  go  slow,  because  she  was  still  weak 
from  fright. 

<rYou  must  forget  what  you  have  been 
through,"  said  Bobbie.  "Then  you'll  stop 
trembling.  Now  see  if  you  can  fly.  Try." 

Maya  lifted  herself  with  a  little  buzz.  Her 
wings  worked  splendidly,  and  to  her  intense 
joy  she  felt  that  no  part  of  her  body  had  been 
injured.  She  flew  slowly  up  to  the  jasmine 
flowers,  drank  avidly  of  their  abundant  scented 
honey-juice,  and  returned  to  Bobbie,  who  had 
left  the  blackberry  vines  and  was  sitting  in 
the  grass. 


IN  THE  TOILS  103 

"I  thank  you  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul," 
said  Maya,  deeply  moved  and  happy  in  her 
regained  freedom. 

"Thanks  are  in  place,"  observed  Bobbie. 
"But  that's  the  way  I  always  am — always  do- 
ing something  for  other  people.  Now  fly 
away.  I'd  advise  you  to  lay  your  head  on  your 
pillow  early  to-night.  Have  you  far  to  go?" 

aNo,"  said  Maya.  "Only  a  short  way.  I 
live  at  the  edge  of  the  beech-woods.  Good-by, 
Bobbie,  I'll  never  forget  you,  never,  never,  so 
long  as  I  live.  Good-by." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  BUG  AND  THE  BUTTERFLY 

HER  adventure  with  the  spider  gave 
Maya    something    to    think    about. 
She  made  up  her  mind  to  be  more 
cautious  in  the  future,  not  to  rush  into  things 
so  recklessly.     Cassandra's  prudent  warnings 
about  the  greatest  dangers  that  threaten  the 
bees,  were  enough  to  give  one  pause;  and  there 
were  all  sorts  of  other  possibilities,  and  the 
world  was  such  a  big  place — oh,  there  was  a 
good  deal  to  make  a  little  bee  stop  and  think. 
It  was  in  the  evening  particularly,  when 
twilight  fell  and  the  little  bee  was  all  by  her- 
self,   that   one    consideration    after    another 

stirred  her  mind.    But  the  next  morning,  if  the 

104 


BUG  AND  BUTTERFLY        105 

sun  shone,  she  usually  forgot  half  the  things 
that  had  bothered  her  the  night  before,  and 
allowed  her  eagerness  for  experiences  to  drive 
her  out  again  into  the  gay  whirl  of  life. 

One  day  she  met  a  very  curious  creature. 
It  was  angular  and  flat  as  a  pancake,  but  had 
a  rather  neat  design  on  its  sheath ;  and  whether 
its  sheath  were  wings  or  what,  you  couldn't 
really  tell.  The  odd  little  monster  sat  abso- 
lutely still  on  the  shaded  leaf  of  a  raspberry 
bush,  its  eyes  half  closed,  apparently  sunk  in 
meditation.  The  scent  of  the  raspberries 
spread  around  it  deliciously.  Maya  wanted 
to  find  out  what  sort  of  an  animal  it  was.  She 
flew  to  the  next-door  leaf  and  said  how-do- 
you-do.  The  stranger  made  no  reply. 

"How  do  you  do,  again?"  And  Maya  gave 
its  leaf  a  little  tap.  The  flat  object  peeled  one 
eye  open,  turned  it  on  Maya,  and  said: 

"A  bee.  The  world  is  full  of  bees,"  and 
closed  its  eye  again. 

"Unique,"  thought  Maya,  and  determined 
to  get  at  the  stranger's  secret.  For  now  it  ex- 
cited her  curiosity  more  than  ever,  as  people 
often  do  who  pay  no  attention  to  us.  She  tried 


io6  MAYA  THE  BEE 

honey.  "I  have  plenty  of  honey,"  she  said. 
"May  I  offer  you  some?"  The  stranger  opened 
its  one  eye  and  regarded  Maya  contempla- 
tively a  moment  or  two.  "What  is  it  going  to 
say  this  time?"  Maya  wondered. 

This  time  there  was  no  answer  at  all.  The 
one  eye  merely  closed  again,  and  the  stranger 
sat  quite  still,  tight  on  the  leaf,  so  that  you 
couldn't  see  its  legs  and  you'd  have  thought 
it  had  been  pressed  down  flat  with  a 
thumb. 

Maya  realized,  of  course,  that  the  stranger 
wanted  to  ignore  her,  but — you  know  how  it 
is — you  don't  like  being  snubbed,  especially 
if  you  haven't  found  out  what  you  wanted  to 
find  out.  It  makes  you  feel  so  cheap. 

"Whoever  you  are,"  cried  Maya,  "permit 
me  to  inform  you  that  insects  are  in  the  habit 
of  greeting  each  other,  especially  when  one  of 
them  happens  to  be  a  bee."  The  bug  sat  on 
without  budging.  It  did  not  so  much  as  open 
its  one  eye  again.  "It's  ill,"  thought  Maya. 
"How  horrid  to  be  ill  on  a  lovely  day  like 
this.  That's  why  it's  staying  in  the  shade, 
too."  She  flew  over  to  the  bug's  leaf  and  sat 


BUG  AND  BUTTERFLY         107 

down  beside  it.  "Aren't  you  feeling  well?" 
she  asked,  so  very  friendly. 

At  this  the  funny  creature  began  to  move 
away.  "Move"  is  the  only  word  to  use,  be- 
cause it  didn't  walk,  or  run,  or  fly,  or  hop.  It 
went  as  if  shoved  by  an  invisible  hand. 

"It  hasn't  any  legs.  That's  why  it's  so 
cross,"  thought  Maya. 

When  it  reached  the  stem  of  the  leaf  it 
stopped  a  second,  moved  on  again,  and,  to  her 
astonishment,  Maya  saw  that  it  had  left  behind 
a  little  brown  drop. 

"How  very  singular,"  she  thought — and 
clapped  her  hand  to  her  nose  and  held  it  tight 
shut.  The  veriest  stench  came  from  the  little 
brown  drop.  Maya  almost  fainted.  She  flew 
away  as  fast  as  she  could  and  seated  herself 
on  a  raspberry,  where  she  held  on  to  her  nose 
and  shivered  with  disgust  and  excitement. 

"Serves  you  right,"  someone  above  her 
called,  and  laughed.  "Why  take  up  with  a 
stink-bug?" 

"Don't  laugh!"  cried  Maya. 

She  looked  up.  A  white  butterfly  had 
alighted  overhead  on  a  slender,  swaying  branch 


io8  MAYA  THE  BEE 

of  the  raspberry  bush,  and  was  slowly  opening 
and  closing  its  broad  wings — slowly,  softly, 
silently,  happy  in  the  sunshine — black  corners 
to  its  wings,  round  black  marks  in  the  centre 
of  each  wing,  four  round  black  marks  in  all. 
Ah,  how  beautiful,  how  beautiful !  Maya  for- 
got her  vexation.  And  she  was  glad,  too,  to 
talk  to  the  butterfly.  She  had  never  made  the 
acquaintance  of  one  before  even  though  she 
had  met  a  great  many. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "you  probably  are  right  to 
laugh.  Was  that  a  stink-bug?" 

"It  was,"  he  replied,  still  smiling.  "The 
sort  of  person  to  keep  away  from.  You're 
probably  very  young  still?" 

"Well,"  observed  Maya,  "I  shouldn't  say  I 
was — exactly.  I've  been  through  a  great  deal. 
But  that  was  the  first  specimen  of  the  kind  I 
had  ever  come  across.  Can  you  imagine  doing 
such  a  thing?" 

The  butterfly  had  to  laugh  again. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  "stink-bugs  like  to 
keep  to  themselves.  They  are  not  very  popu- 
lar, so  they  use  the  odoriferous  drop  to  make 
people  take  notice  of  them.  We'd  probably 


BUG  AND  BUTTERFLY        109 

soon  forget  the  fact  of  their  existence  if  it  were 
not  for  the  drop  :  it  serves  as  a  reminder.  And 
they  want  to  be  remembered,  no  matter  how." 

"How  lovely,  how  exquisitely  lovely  your 
wings  are,"  said  Maya.  "So  delicate  and 
white.  May  I  introduce  myself?  Maya,  of 
the  nation  of  bees." 

The  butterfly  laid  his  wings  together  to  look 
like  only  one  wing  standing  straight  up  in  the 
air.  He  gave  a  slight  bow. 

"Fred,"  he  said  laconically. 

Maya  couldn't  gaze  her  fill. 

"Fly  a  little,"  she  asked. 

"Shall  I  fly  away?" 

"Oh  no.  I  just  want  to  see  your  great  white 
wings  move  in  the  blue  air.  But  never  mind. 
I  can  wait  till  later.  Where  do  you  live?" 

"Nowhere  specially.  A  settled  home  is  too 
much  of  a  nuisance.  Life  didn't  get  to  be 
really  delightful  until  I  turned  into  a  butterfly. 
Before  that,  while  I  was  still  a  caterpillar,  I 
couldn't  leave  the  cabbage  the  livelong  day, 
and  all  one  did  was  eat  and  squabble." 

"Just  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Maya, 
mystified. 


no  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"I  used  to  be  a  caterpillar,"  explained  Fred. 

"Never!"  cried  Maya. 

"Now,  now,  now,"  said  Fred,  pointing  both 
feelers  straight  at  Maya.  "Everyone  knows 
a  butterfly  is  first  a  caterpillar.  Even  human 
beings  know  it." 

Maya  was  utterly  perplexed.  Could  such 
a  thing  be? 

"You  must  really  explain  more  clearly," 
she  said.  "I  couldn't  accept  what  you  say  just 
so,  could  I?  You  wouldn't  expect  me  to." 

The  butterfly  perched  beside  the  little  bee 
on  the  slender  swaying  branch  of  the  rasp- 
berry bush,  and  they  rocked  together  in  the 
morning  wind.  He  told  her  how  he  had  begun 
life  as  a  caterpillar  and  then,  one  day,  when 
he  had  shed  his  last  caterpillar  skin,  he  came 
out  a  pupa  or  chrysalis. 

"At  the  end  of  a  few  weeks,"  he  continued, 
"I  woke  up  out  of  my  dark  sleep  and  broke 
through  the  wrappings  or  pupa-case.  I  can't 
tell  you,  Maya,  what  a  feeling  comes  over  you 
when,  after  a  time  like  that,  you  suddenly  see 
the  sun  again.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  melt- 
ing in  a  warm  golden  ocean,  and  I  loved  my 


BUG  AND  BUTTERFLY         in 

life    so    that    my    heart    began    to    pound." 

"I  understand,"  said  Maya,  "I  understand. 
I  felt  the  same  way  the  first  time  I  left  our 
humdrum  city  and  flew  out  into  the  bright 
scented  world  of  blossoms."  The  little  bee 
was  silent  a  while,  thinking  of  her  first  flight. 
— But  then  she  wanted  to  know  how  the  but- 
terfly's large  wings  could  grow  in  the  small 
space  of  the  pupa-case. 

Fred  explained. 

"The  wings  are  delicately  folded  together 
like  the  petals  of  a  flower  in  the  bud.  When 
the  weather  is  bright  and  warm,  the  flower 
must  open,  it  cannot  help  itself,  and  its  petals 
unfold.  So  with  my  wings,  they  were  folded 
up,  then  unfolded.  No  one  can  resist  the  sun 
when  it  shines." 

"No,  no — one  cannot — one  cannot  resist  the 
sunshine."  Maya  mused,  watching  the  butter- 
fly as  he  perched  in  the  golden  light  of  the 
morning,  pure  white  against  the  blue  sky. 

"People  often  charge  us  with  being  friv- 
olous," said  Fred.  "We're  really  happy — 
just  that — just  happy.  You  wouldn't  believe 
how  seriously  I  sometimes  think  about  life." 


ii2  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"Tell  me  what  all  you  think." 

"Oh,"  said  Fred,  "I  think  about  the  future. 
It's  very  interesting  to  think  about  the  future. 
— But  I  should  like  to  fly  now.  The  meadows 
on  the  hillside  are  full  of  yarrow  and  canter- 
bury bells ;  everything's  in  bloom.  I'd  like  to 
be  there,  you  know." 

This  Maya  understood,  she  understood  it 
well,  and  they  said  good-by  and  flew  away  in 
different  directions,  the  white  butterfly  rock- 
ing silently  as  if  wafted  by  the  gentle  wind, 
little  Maya  with  that  uneasy  zoom-zoom  of 
the  bees  which  we  hear  upon  the  flowers  on 
fair  days  and  which  we  always  recall  when 
we  think  of  the  summer. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  LOST  LEG 

NEAR  the  hole  where  Maya  had  set 
herself  up  for  the  summer  lived  a 
family  of  bark-boring  beetles.  Frid- 
olin,  the  father,  was  an  earnest,  industrious 
man  who  wanted  many  children  and  took  im- 
mense pains  to  bring  up  a  large  family.  He 
had  done  very  well:  he  had  fifty  energetic 
sons  to  fill  him  with  pride  and  high  hopes. 
Each  had  dug  his  own  meandering  little 
tunnel  in  the  bark  of  the  pine-tree  and  all 
were  getting  on  and  were  comfortably 
settled. 

"My  wife,"  Fridolin  said  to  Maya,  after 
they    had    known    each    other    some    time, 

"3 


ii4  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"has  arranged  things  so  that  none  of  my 
sons  interferes  with  the  others.  They  are  not 
even  acquainted ;  each  goes  his  own  way." 

Maya  knew  that  human  beings  were  none 
too  fond  of  Fridolin  and  his  people,  though 
she  herself  liked  him  and  liked  his  opinions 
and  had  found  no  reason  to  avoid  him.  In 
the  morning  before  the  sun  arose  and  the 
woods  were  still  asleep,  she  would  hear  his 
fine  tapping  and  boring.  It  sounded  like  a 
delicate  trickling,  or  as  if  the  tree  were  breath- 
ing in  its  sleep.  Later  she  would  see  the  thin 
brown  dust  that  he  had  emptied  out  of  his 
corridor. 

Once  he  came  at  an  early  hour,  as  he  often 
did,  to  wish  her  good-morning  and  ask  if  she 
had  slept  well. 

"Not  flying  to-day?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  it's  too  windy." 

It  was  windy.  The  wind  rushed  and  roared 
and  flung  the  branches  into  a  mad  tumult.  The 
leaves  looked  ready  to  fly  away.  After  each 
great  gust  the  sky  would  brighten,  and  in  the 
pale  light  the  trees  seemed  balder.  The  pine 
in  which  Maya  and  Fridolin  lived  shrieked 


THE  LOST  LEG  115 

with  the  voices  of  the  wind  as  in  a  fury  of 
anger  and  excitement. 

Fridolin  sighed. 

"I  worked  all  night,"  he  told  Maya,  "all 
night.  But  what  can  you  do?  You've  got  to 
do  jom^thing  to  get  jora^where.  And  I'm 
not  altogether  satisfied  with  this  pine;  I  should 
have  tackled  a  fir-tree."  He  wiped  his  brow 
and  smiled  in  self-pity. 

"How  are  your  children?"  asked  Maya 
pleasantly. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Fridolin,  "thank  you  for 
your  interest.  But" — he  hesitated — "but  I 
don't  supervise  the  way  I  used  to.  Still, 
I  have  reason  to  believe  they  are  all  doing 
well." 

As  he  sat  there,  a  little  brown  man  with 
slightly  curtailed  wing-sheaths  and  a  breast- 
plate that  looked  like  a  head  too  large  for  its 
body,  Maya  thought  he  was  almost  comical; 
but  she  knew  he  was  a  dangerous  beetle  who 
could  do  immense  harm  to  the  mighty  trees 
of  the  forest,  and  if  his  tribe  attacked  a  tree  in 
numbers  then  the  green  needles  were  doomed, 
the  tree  would  turn  sear  and  die.  It  was  ut- 


ii6  MAYA  THE  BEE 

terly  without  defenses  against  the  little  ma- 
rauders who  destroyed  the  bark  and  the  sap- 
wood.  And  the  sap-wood  is  necessary  to  the 
life  of  a  tree  because  it  carries  the  sap  up  to 
the  very  tips  of  the  branches.  There  were 
stories  of  how  whole  forests  had  fallen  victims 
to  the  race  of  boring-beetles.  Maya  looked  at 
Fridolin  reflectively;  she  was  awed  into  so- 
lemnity at  the  thought  of  the  great  power 
these  little  creatures  possessed  and  of  how  im- 
portant they  could  become. 

Fridolin  sighed  and  said  in  a  worried  tone: 

"Ah,  life  would  be  beautiful  if  there  were 
no  woodpeckers." 

Maya  nodded. 

"Yes,  indeed,  you're  right.  The  wood- 
pecker gobbles  up  every  insect  he  sees." 

"If  it  were  only  that,"  observed  Fridolin, 
"if  it  were  only  that  he  got  the  careless  people 
who  fool  around  on  the  outside,  on  the  bark, 
I'd  say,  'Very  well,  a  woodpecker  must  live 
roo.'  But  it  seems  all  wrong  that  the  bird 
should  follow  us  right  into  our  corridors  into 
the  remotest  corners  of  our  homes." 

"But  he  can't.    He's  too  big,  isn't  he?" 


THE  LOST  LEG  117 

Fridolin  looked  at  Maya  with  an  air  of 
grave  importance,  lifting  his  brows  and  shak- 
ing his  head  two  or  three  times.  It  seemed  to 
please  him  that  he  knew  something  she  didn't 
know. 

"Too  big?  What  difference  does  his  size 
make?  No,  my  dear,  it's  not  his  size  we  are 
afraid  of;  it's  his  tongue." 

Maya  made  big  eyes. 

Fridolin  told  her  about  the  woodpecker's 
tongue :  that  it  was  long  and  thin,  and  round 
as  a  worm,  and  barbed  and  sticky. 

"He  can  stretch  his  tongue  out  ten  times  my 
length,"  cried  the  bark-beetle,  flourishing  his 
arm.  "You  think :  'now — now  he  has  reached 
the  limit,  he  can't  make  it  the  tiniest  bit 
longer.'  But  no,  he  goes  on  stretching  and 
stretching  it.  He  pokes  it  deep  into  all  the 
cracks  and  crevices  of  the  bark,  on  the  chance 
that  he'll  find  somebody  sitting  there.  He  even 
pushes  it  into  our  passageways — actually,  into 
our  corridors  and  chambers.  Things  stick  to 
it,  and  that's  the  way  he  pulls  us  out  of  our 
homes." 

"I  am  not  a  coward,"  said  Maya,  "I  don't 


n8  MAYA  THE  BEE 

think  I  am,  but  what  you  say  makes  me 
creepy." 

"Oh,  you're  all  right,"  said  Fridolin,  a  little 
envious,  "you  with  your  sting  are  safe.  A  per- 
son'll  think  twice  before  he'll  let  you  sting  his 
tongue.  Anybody'll  tell  you  that.  But  how 
about  us  bark-beetles?  How  do  you  think  we 
feel?  A  cousin  of  mine  got  caught.  We  had 
just  had  a  little  quarrel  on  account  of  my  wife. 
I  remember  every  detail  perfectly.  My  cousin 
was  paying  us  a  visit  and  hadn't  yet  got  used 
to  our  ways  or  our  arrangements.  All  of  a 
sudden  we  heard  a  woodpecker  scratching  and 
boring — one  of  the  smaller  species.  It  must 
have  begun  right  at  our  building  because  as  a 
rule  we  hear  him  beforehand  and  have  time 
to  run  to  shelter  before  he  reaches  us. 

"Suddenly  I  heard  my  poor  cousin  scream 
in  the  dark:  'Fridolin,  I'm  sticking!'  Then  all 
I  heard  was  a  short  desperate  scuffle,  followed 
by  complete  silence,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  woodpecker  was  hammering  at  the  house 
next  door.  My  poor  cousin!  Her  name  was 
Agatha." 

"Feel  how  my  heart  is  beating,"  said  Maya, 


THE  LOST  LEG  119 

in  a  whisper.  "You  oughtn't  to  have  told  it 
so  quickly.  My  goodness,  the  things  that  do 
happen!"  And  the  little  bee  thought  of  her 
own  adventures  in  the  past  and  the  accidents 
that  might  still  happen  to  her. 

A  laugh  from  Fridolin  interrupted  her  re- 
flections. She  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"See  who's  coming,"  he  cried,  "coming  up 
the  tree.  Here's  the  fellow  for  you!  I  tell 
you,  he's  a — but  you'll  see." 

Maya  followed  the  direction  of  his  gaze  and 
saw  a  remarkable  animal  slowly  climbing  up 
the  trunk.  She  wouldn't  have  believed  such 
a  creature  was  possible  if  she  had  not  seen  it 
with  her  own  eyes. 

"Hadn't  we  better  hide?"  she  asked,  alarm 
getting  the  better  of  astonishment. 

"Absurd,"  replied  the  bark-beetle,  "just  sit 
still  and  be  polite  to  the  gentleman.  He  is 
very  learned,  really,  very  scholarly,  and  what 
is  more,  kind  and  modest  and,  like  most  per- 
sons of  his  type,  rather  funny.  See  what  he's 
doing  now!" 

"Probably  thinking,"  observed  Maya,  who 
couldn't  get  over  her  astonishment. 


120  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"He's  struggling  against  the  wind,"  said 
Fridolin,  and  laughed.  "I  hope  his  legs  don't 
get  entangled." 

"Are  those  long  threads  really  his  legs?" 
asked  Maya,  opening  her  eyes  wide.  "I've 
never  seen  the  like." 

Meanwhile  the  newcomer  had  drawn 
near,  and  Maya  got  a  better  view  of  him.  He 
looked  as  though  he  were  swinging  in  the  air, 
his  rotund  little  body  hung  so  high  on  his  mon- 
strously long  legs,  which  groped  for  a  footing 
on  all  sides  like  a  movable  scaffolding  of 
threads.  He  stepped  along  cautiously,  feeling 
his  way;  the  little  brown  sphere  of  his  body 
rose  and  sank,  rose  and  sank.  His  legs  were 
so  very  long  and  thin  that  one  alone  would 
certainly  not  have  been  enough  to  support  his 
body.  He  needed  all  at  once,  unquestionably. 
As  they  were  jointed  in  the  middle,  they  rose 
high  in  the  air  above  him. 

Maya  clapped  her  hands  together. 

"Well!"  she  cried.  "Did  you  ever?  Would 
you  have  dreamed  that  such  delicate  legs,  legs 
as  fine  as  a  hair,  could  be  so  nimble  and  use- 
ful— that  one  could  really  use  them — and 


THE  LOST  LEG  121 

they'd  know  what  to  do?  Fridolin,  I  think  it's 
wonderful,  simply  wonderful." 

"Ah,  bah,"  said  the  bark-beetle.  "Don't 
take  things  so  seriously.  Just  laugh  when  you 
see  something  funny;  that's  all." 

"But  I  don't  feel  like  laughing.  Often  we 
laugh  at  something  and  later  find  out  it  was 
just  because  we  haven't  understood." 

By  this  time  the  stranger  had  joined  them 
and  was  looking  down  at  Maya  from  the 
height  of  his  pointed  triangles  of  legs. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said,  "a  real  wind- 
storm— a  pretty  strong  draught,  don't  you 
think,  or — no?  You  are  of  a  different  opin- 
ion?" He  clung  to  the  tree  as  hard  as  he 
could. 

Fridolin  turned  to  hide  his  laughing, 
but  little  Maya  replied  politely  that  she  quite 
agreed  with  him  and  that  was  why  she  had  not 
gone  out  flying.  Then  she  introduced  herself. 
The  stranger  squinted  down  at  her  through  his 
legs. 

"Maya,  of  the  nation  of  bees,"  he  repeated. 
"Delighted,  really.  I  have  heard  a  good  deal 
about  bees. — I  myself  belong  to  the  general 


122  MAYA  THE  BEE 

family  of  spiders,  species  daddy-long-legs,  and 
my  name  is  Hannibal." 

The  word  spider  has  an  evil  sound  in  the 
ears  of  all  smaller  insects,  and  Maya  could 
not  quite  conceal  her  fright,  especially  as  she 
was  reminded  of  her  agony  in  Thekla's  web. 
Hannibal  seemed  to  take  no  notice,  so  Maya 
decided,  "Well  if  need  be  I'll  fly  away,  and  he 
can  whistle  for  me;  he  has  no  wings  and  his 
web  is  somewhere  else." 

"I  am  thinking,"  said  Hannibal,  "thinking 
very  hard. — If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will 
come  a  little  closer.  That  big  branch  there 
makes  a  good  shield  against  the  wind." 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Maya,  making  room 
for  him. 

Fridolin  said  good-by  and  left.  Maya 
stayed;  she  was  eager  to  get  at  Hannibal's  per- 
sonality. 

"The  many,  many  different  kinds  of  ani- 
mals there  are  in  the  world,"  she  thought. 
"Every  day  a  fresh  discovery." 

The  wind  had  subsided  some,  and  the  sun 
shone  through  the  branches.  From  below 
rose  the  song  of  a  robin  redbreast,  filling  the 


THE  LOST  LEG  123 

woods  with  joy.  Maya  could  see  it  perched 
on  a  branch,  could  see  its  throat  swell  and 
pulse  with  the  song  as  it  held  its  little  head 
raised  up  to  the  light. 

"If  only  I  could  sing  like  that  robin  red- 
breast," she  said,  "I'd  perch  on  a  flower  and 
keep  it  up  the  livelong  day." 

"You'd  produce  something  lovely,  you 
would,  with  your  humming  and  buzzing." 

"The  bird  looks  so  happy." 

"You  have  great  fancies,"  said  the  daddy- 
long-legs.  "Supposing  every  animal  were  to 
wish  he  could  do  something  that  nature  had 
not  fitted  him  to  do,  the  world  would  be  all 
topsy-turvy.  Supposing  a  robin  redbreast 
thought  he  had  to  have  a  sting — a  sting  above 
everything  else — or  a  goat  wanted  to  fly  about 
gathering  honey.  Supposing  a  frog  were  to 
come  along  and  languish  for  my  kind  of  legs." 

Maya  laughed. 

"That  isn't  just  what  I  mean.  I  mean,  it 
seems  lovely  to  be  able  to  make  all  beings  as 
happy  as  the  bird  does  with  his  song. — But 
goodness  gracious!"  she  exclaimed  suddenly. 
"Mr.  Hannibal,  you  have  one  leg  too  many." 


124  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Hannibal  frowned  and  looked  into  space, 
vexed. 

"Well,  you've  noticed  it,"  he  said  glumly. 
"But  as  a  matter  of  fact — one  leg  too  few,  not 
too  many." 

"Why?    Do  you  usually  have  eight  legs?" 

"Permit  me  to  explain.  We  spiders  have 
eight  legs.  We  need  them  all.  Besides,  eight 
is  a  more  aristocratic  number.  One  of  my  legs 
got  lost.  Too  bad  about  it.  However  you 
manage,  you  make  the  best  of  it." 

"It  must  be  dreadfully  disagreeable  to  lose 
a  leg,"  Maya  sympathized. 

Hannibal  propped  his  chin  on  his  hand  and 
arranged  his  legs  to  keep  them  from  being 
easily  counted. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  happened.  Of  course, 
as  usual  when  there's  mischief,  a  human  being 
is  mixed  up  in  it.  We  spiders  are  careful  and 
look  what  we're  doing,  but  human  beings  are 
careless,  they  grab  you  sometimes  as  though 
you  were  a  piece  of  wood.  Shall  I  tell 
you?" 

"Oh,  do  please,"  said  Maya,  settling  herself 
comfortably.  "It  would  be  awfully  interest- 


THE  LOST  LEG  125 

ing.  You  must  certainly  have  gone  through  a 
good  deal." 

"I  should  s'ay  so,"  said  Hannibal.  "Now 
listen.  We  daddy-long-legs,  you  know,  hunt 
by  night.  I  was  then  living  in  a  green  garden- 
house.  It  was  overgrown  with  ivy,  and  there 
were  a  number  of  broken  window-panes, 
which  made  it  very  convenient  for  me  to  crawl 
in  and  out.  The  man  came  at  dark.  In  one 
hand  he  carried  his  artificial  sun,  which  he 
calls  lamp,  in  the  other  hand  a  small  bottle, 
under  his  arm  some  paper,  and  in  his  pocket 
another  bottle.  He  put  everything  down  on 
the  table  and  began  to  think,  because  he 
wanted  to  write  his  thoughts  on  the  paper. 
— You  must  certainly  have  come  across  paper 
in  the  woods  or  in  the  garden.  The  black  on 
the  paper  is  what  man  has  excogitated — ex- 
cogitated." 

"Marvelous!"  cried  Maya,  all  a-glow  that 
she  was  to  learn  so  much. 

"For  this  purpose,"  Hannibal  continued, 
"man  needs  both  bottles.  He  inserts  a  stick 
into  the  one  and  drinks  out  of  the  other.  The 
more  he  drinks,  the  better  it  goes.  Of  course. 


ia6  MAYA  THE  BEE 

it  is  about  us  insects  that  he  writes,  everything 
he  knows  about  us,  and  he  writes  strenuously, 
but  the  result  is  not  much  to  boast  of,  because 
up  to  now  man  has  found  out  very  little  in 
regard  to  insects.  He  is  absolutely  ignorant 
of  our  soul-life  and  hasn't  the  least  considera- 
tion for  our  feelings.  You'll  see." 

"Don't  you  think  well  of  human  beings?" 
asked  Maya. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes.  But  the  loss  of  a  leg" — the 
daddy-long-legs  looked  down  slantwise — "is 
apt  to  embitter  one,  rather." 

"I  see,"  said  Maya. 

"One  evening  I  was  sitting  on  a  window- 
frame  as  usual,  prepared  for  the  chase,  and  the 
man  was  sitting  at  the  table,  his  two  bottles 
before  him,  trying  to  produce  something.  It 
annoyed  me  dreadfully  that  a  whole  swarm  of 
little  flies  and  gnats,  upon  which  I  depend  for 
my  subsistence,  had  settled  upon  the  artificial 
sun  and  were  staring  into  it  in  that  crude, 
stupid,  uneducated  way  of  theirs." 

"Well,"  observed  Maya,  "I  think  I'd  look 
at  a  thing  like  that  myself." 

"Look,  for  all  I  care.    But  to  look  and  to 


THE  LOST  LEG  127 

stare  like  an  idiot  are  two  entirely  different 
things.  Just  watch  once  and  see  the  silly  jig 
they  dance  around  a  lamp.  It's  nothing  for 
them  to  butt  their  heads  about  twenty  times. 
Some  of  them  keep  it  up  until  they  burn  their 
wings.  And  all  the  time  they  stare  and  stare 
at  the  light." 

"Poor  creatures!  Evidently  they  lose  their 
wits." 

"Then  they  had  better  stay  outside  on  the 
window-frame  or  under  the  leaves.  They're 
safe  from  the  lamp  there,  and  that's  where  I 
can  catch  them. — Well,  on  that  fateful  night 
I  saw  from  my  position  on  the  window-frame 
that  some  gnats  were  lying  scattered  on  the 
table  beside  the  lamp  drawing  their  last 
breath.  The  man  did  not  seem  to  notice  or 
care  about  them,  so  I  decided  to  go  and  take 
them  myself.  That's  perfectly  natural, 
isn't  it?" 

"Perfectly." 

"And  yet,  it  was  my  undoing.  I  crept  up 
the  leg  of  the  table,  very  softly,  on  my  guard, 
until  I  could  peep  over  the  edge.  The  man 
seemed  dreadfully  big.  I  watched  him  work- 


i28  MAYA  THE  BEE 

ing.  Then,  slowly,  very  slowly,  carefully  lift- 
ing one  leg  at  a  time,  I  crossed  over  to  the 
lamp.  As  long  as  I  was  covered  by  the  bottle 
all  went  well,  but  I  had  scarcely  turned  the 
corner,  when  the  man  looked  up  and  grabbed 
me.  He  lifted  me  by  one  of  my  legs,  dangled 
me  in  front  of  his  huge  eyes,  and  said :  'See 
what's  here,  just  see  what's  here.'  And  he 
grinned — the  brute! — he  grinned  with  his 
whole  face,  as  though  it  were  a  laughing 
matter." 

Hannibal  sighed,  and  little  Maya  kept  quite 
still.  Her  head  was  in  a  whirl. 

"Have  human  beings  such  immense  eyes?" 
she  asked  at  last. 

"Please  think  of  me  in  the  position  I  was 
in,"  cried  Hannibal,  vexed.  "Try  to  imagine 
how  I  felt.  Who'd  like  to  be  hanging  by  the 
leg  in  front  of  eyes  twenty  times  as  big  as  his 
own  body  and  a  mouth  full  of  gleaming  teeth, 
each  fully  twice  as  big  as  himself?  Well, 
what  do  you  think?" 

"Awful!    Perfectly  awful!" 

"Thank  the  Lord,  my  leg  broke  off.  There's 
no  telling  what  might  have  happened  if  my 


THE  LOST  LEG  129 

leg  had  not  broken  off.  I  fell  to  the  table,  and 
then  I  ran,  I  ran  as  fast  as  my  remaining  legs 
would  take  me,  and  hid  behind  the  bottle. 
There  I  stood  and  hurled  threats  of  violence 
at  the  man.  They  saved  me,  my  threats  did, 
the  man  was  afraid  to  run  after  me.  I  saw 
him  lay  my  leg  on  the  white  paper,  and  I 
watched  how  it  wanted  to  escape — which  it 
can't  do  without  me." 

"Was  it  still  moving?"  asked  Maya,  prick- 
ling at  the  thought. 

"Yes.  Our  legs  always  do  move  when 
they're  pulled  out.  My  leg  ran,  but  I  not 
being  there  it  didn't  know  where  to  run  to,  so 
it  merely  flopped  about  aimlessly  on  the  same 
spot,  and  the  man  watched  it,  clutching  at  his 
nose  and  smiling — smiling,  the  heartless 
wretch ! — at  my  leg's  sense  of  duty." 

"Impossible,"  said  the  little  bee,  quite 
scared,  "an  offen  leg  can't  crawl." 

"An  offen  leg?    What  is  an  offen  leg?" 

"A  leg  that  has  come  off,"  explained  Maya, 
staring  at  him.  "Don't  you  know?  At  home 
we  children  used  the  word  offen  for  anything 
that  had  come  off." 


130  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"You  should  drop  your  nursery  slang  when 
you're  out  in  the  world  and  in  the  presence 
of  cultured  people,"  said  Hannibal  severely. 
"But  it  is  true  that  our  legs  totter  long  after 
they  have  been  torn  from  our  bodies." 

"I  can't  believe  it  without  proof." 

"Do  you  think  I'll  tear  one  of  my  legs  off  to 
satisfy  you?"  Hannibal's  tone  was  ugly.  "I 
see  you're  not  a  fit  person  to  associate  with. 
Nobody,  I'd  like  you  to  know,  nobody  has 
ever  doubted  my  word  before." 

Maya  was  terribly  put  out.  She  couldn't 
understand  what  had  upset  the  daddy-long- 
legs so,  or  what  dreadful  thing  she  had  done. 

"It  isn't  altogether  easy  to  get  along  with 
strangers,"  she  thought.  "They  don't  think 
the  way  we  do  and  don't  see  that  we  mean  no 
harm."  She  was  depressed  and  cast  a  troubled 
look  at  the  spider  with  his  long  legs  and 
soured  expression. 

"Really,  someone  ought  to  come  and  eat  you 
up." 

Hannibal  had  evidently  mistaken  Maya's 
good  nature  for  weakness.  For  now  something 
unusual  happened  to  the  little  bee.  Suddenly 


THE  LOST  LEG  131 

her  depression  passed  and  gave  way,  not  to 
alarm  or  timidity,  but  to  a  calm  courage.  She 
straightened  up,  lifted  her  lovely,  transparent 
wings,  uttered  her  high  clear  buzz,  and  said 
with  a  gleam  in  her  eyes : 

"I  am  a  bee,  Mr.  Hannibal." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  and  without 
saying  good-by  turned  and  ran  down  the 
tree-trunk  as  fast  as  a  person  can  run  who  has 
seven  legs. 

Maya  had  to  laugh,  willy-nilly.  From 
down  below  Hannibal  began  to  scold. 

"You're  bad.  You  threaten  helpless  people, 
you  threaten  them  with  your  sting  when  you 
know  they're  handicapped  by  a  misfortune  and 
can't  get  away  fast.  But  your  hour  is  com- 
ing, and  when  you're  in  a  tight  place  you'll 
think  of  me  and  be  sorry."  Hannibal  disap- 
peared under  the  lea'ves  of  the  coltsfoot  on 
the  ground.  His  last  words  had  not  reached 
the  little  bee. 

The  wind  had  almost  died  away,  and  the 
day  promised  to  be  fine.  White  clouds  sailed 
aloft  in  a  deep,  deep  blue,  looking  happy  and 
serene  like  good  thoughts  of  the  Lord.  Maya 


132  MAYA  THE  BEE 

was  cheered.  She  thought  of  the  rich  shaded 
meadows  by  the  woods  and  of  the  sunny  slopes 
beyond  the  lake.  A  blithe  activity  must  have 
begun  there  by  this  time.  In  her  mind  she 
saw  the  slim  grasses  waving  and  the  purple 
iris  that  grew  in  the  rills  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods.  From  the  flower  of  an  iris  you  could 
look  across  to  the  mysterious  night  of  the  pine- 
forest  and  catch  its  cool  breath  of  melancholy. 
You  knew  that  its  forbidding  silence,  which 
transformed  the  sunshine  into  a  reddish  half- 
light  of  sleep,  was  the  home  of  the  fairy  tale. 
Maya  was  already  flying.  She  had  started 
off  instinctively,  in  answer  to  the  call  of  the 
meadows  and  their  gay  carpeting  of  flowers. 
It  was  a  joy  to  be  alive. 


I 


the  days  and  weeks  of  her  young 
life  passed  for  little  Maya  among 
the  insects  in  a  lovely  summer  world 
— a  happy  roving  in  garden  and  meadow,  oc- 
casional risks  and  many  joys.  For  all  that,  she 
often  missed  the  companions  of  her  early 
childhood  and  now  and  again  suffered  a  pang 
of  homesickness,  an  ache  of  longing  for  her 
people  and  the  kingdom  she  had  left.  There 
were  hours,  too,  when  she  yearned  for  regu- 
lar, useful  work  and  association  with  friends 
of  her  own  kind. 

However,  at  bottom  she  had  a  restless  na- 
ture, little  Maya  had,  and  was  scarcely  ready 

133 


i34  MAYA  THE  BEE 

to  settle  down  for  good  and  live  in  the  com- 
munity of  the  bees;  she  wouldn't  have  felt 
comfortable.  Often  among  animals  as  well 
as  human  beings  there  are  some  who  cannot 
conform  to  the  ways  of  the  others.  Before  we 
condemn  them  we  must  be  careful  and  give 
them  a  chance  to  prove  themselves.  For  it  is 
not  always  laziness  or  stubbornness  that  makes 
them  different.  Far  from  it.  At  the  back  of 
their  peculiar  urge  is  a  deep  longing  for  some- 
thing higher  or  better  than  what  every-day 
life  has  to  offer,  and  many  a  time  young 
runaways  have  grown  up  into  good,  sensible, 
experienced  men  and  women. 

Little  Maya  was  a  pure,  sensitive  soul,  and 
her  attitude  to  the  big,  beautiful  world  came 
of  a  genuine  eagerness  for  knowledge  and  a 
great  delight  in  the  glories  of  creation. 

Yet  it  is  hard  to  be  alone  even  when  you 
are  happy,  and  the  more  Maya  went  through, 
the  greater  became  her  yearning  for  compan- 
ionship and  love.  She  was  no  longer  so  very 
young;  she  had  grown  into  a  strong,  superb 
creature  with  sound,  bright  wings,  a  sharp, 
dangerous  sting,  and  a  highly  developed  sense 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT    135 

of  both  the  pleasures  and  the  hazards  of  her 
life.  Through  her  own  experience  she  had 
gathered  information  and  stored  up  wisdom, 
which  she  now  often  wished  she  could  apply 
to  something  of  real  value.  There  were  days 
when  she  was  ready  to  return  to  the  hive  and 
throw  herself  at  the  queen's  feet  and  sue  for 
pardon  and  honorable  reinstatement.  But  a 
great,  burning  desire  held  her  back — the  de- 
sire to  know  human  beings.  She  had  heard 
so  many  contradictory  things  about  them  that 
she  was  confused  rather  than  enlightened. 
Yet  she  had  a  feeling  that  in  the  whole  of 
creation  there  were  no  beings  more  powerful 
or  more  intelligent  or  more  sublime  than  they. 
A  few  times  in  her  wanderings  she  had  seen 
people,  but  only  from  afar,  from  high  up  in 
the  air — big  and  little  people,  black  people, 
white  people,  red  people,  and  such  as  dressed 
in  many  colors.  She  had  never  ventured  close. 
Once  she  had  caught  the  glimmer  of  red  near 
a  brook,  and  thinking  it  was  a  bed  of  flowers 
had  flown  down.  She  found  a  human  being 
fast  asleep  among  the  brookside  blossoms.  It 
had  golden  hair  and  a  pink  face  and  wore  a 


136  MAYA  THE  BEE 

red  dress.  It  was  dreadfully  large,  of  course, 
but  still  it  looked  so  good  and  sweet  that  Maya 
thrilled,  and  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  She  lost 
all  sense  of  her  whereabouts;  she  could  do 
nothing  but  gaze  and  gaze  upon  the  slumber- 
ing presence.  All  the  horrid  things  she  had 
ever  heard  against  man  seemed  utterly  impos- 
sible. Lies  they  must  have  been — mean  lies 
that  she  had  been  told  against  creatures  as 
charming  as  this  one  asleep  in  the  shade  of  the 
whispering  birch-trees. 

After  a  while  a  mosquito  came  and  buzzed 
greetings. 

"Look!"  cried  Maya,  hot  with  excitement 
and  delight.  "Look,  just  look  at  that  human 
being  there.  How  good,  how  beautiful  I 
Doesn't  it  fill  you  with  enthusiasm?" 

The  mosquito  gave  Maya  a  surprised  stare, 
then  turned  slowly  round  to  glance  at  the  ob- 
ject of  her  admiration. 

"Yes,  it  is  good.  I  just  tasted  it.  I  stung  it. 
Look,  my  body  is  shining  red  with  its  blood." 

Maya  had  to  press  her  hand  to  her  heart,  so 
startled  was  she  by  the  mosquito's  daring. 

"Will  it  die?"  she  cried.    "Where  did  you 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT    137 

wound  it?  How  could  you?  How  could  you 
screw  up  your  courage  to  sting  it?  And  how 
vile!  Why,  you're  a  beast  of  prey  1" 

The  mosquito  tittered. 

"Why,  it's  only  a  very  little  human  being," 
it  answered  in  its  high,  thin  voice.  "It's  the 
size  called  girl — the  size  at  which  the  legs  are 
covered  half  way  up  with  a  separate  colored 
casing.  My  sting,  of  course,  goes  through 
the  casing  but  usually  doesn't  reach  the  skin. — 
Your  ignorance  is  really  stupendous.  Do  you 
actually  think  that  human  beings  are  good? 
I  haven't  come  across  one  who  willingly  let 
me  take  the  tiniest  drop  of  his  blood." 

"I  don't  know  very  much  about  human  be- 
ings, I  admit,"  said  Maya  humbly. 

"But  of  all  the  insects  you  bees  have  most 
to  do  with  human  beings.  That's  a  well-known 
fact." 

"I  left  our  kingdom,"  Maya  confessed  tim- 
idly. "I  didn't  like  it.  I  wanted  to  learn 
about  the  outside  world." 

"Well,  well,  what  do  you  think  of  thatl" 
The  mosquito  drew  a  step  nearer.  "How  do 
you  like  your  free-lancing?  I  must  say,  I  ad- 


138  MAYA  THE  BEE 

mire  you  for  your  independence.  I  for  one 
would  never  consent  to  serve  human  beings." 

"But  they  serve  us  too!"  said  Maya,  who 
couldn't  bear  a  slight  to  be  put  upon  her 
people. 

"Maybe. — To  what  nation  do  you  belong?" 

"I  come  of  the  nation  in  the  castle  park. 
The  ruling  queen  is  Helen  VIII." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  mosquito,  and  bowed 
low.  "An  enviable  lineage.  My  deepest  re- 
spects.— There  was  a  revolution  in  your  king- 
dom not  so  long  ago,  wasn't  there?  I  heard  it 
from  the  messengers  of  the  rebel  swarm.  Am 
I  right?" 

"Yes,"  said  Maya,  proud  and  happy  that  her 
nation  was  so  respected  and  renowned.  Home- 
sickness for  her  people  awoke  again,  deep 
down  in  her  heart,  and  she  wished  she  could 
do  something  good  and  great  for  her  queen 
and  country.  Carried  away  on  the  wings  of 
this  dream,  she  forgot  to  ask  about  human  be- 
ings. Or,  like  as  not,  she  refrained  from  ques- 
tions, feeling  that  the  mosquito  would  not  tell 
her  things  she  would  be  glad  to  hear.  The 
mite  of  a  creature  impressed  her  as  a  saucy 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT    139 

Miss,  and  people  of  her  kind  usually  had 
nothing  good  to  say  of  others.  Besides,  she 
soon  flew  away. 

"I'm  going  to  take  one  more  drink,"  she 
called  back  to  Maya.  "Later  I  and  my  friends 
are  going  flying  in  the  light  of  the  westering 
sun.  Then  we'll  be  sure  to  have  good  weather 
to-morrow." 

Maya  made  off  quickly.  She  couldn't  bear 
to  stay  and  see  the  mosquito  hurt  the  sleeping 
child.  And  how  could  she  do  this  thing  and 
not  perish?  Hadn't  Cassandra  said:  "If  you 
sting  a  human  being,  you  will  die?" 

Maya  still  remembered  every  detail  of  this 
incident  with  the  child  and  the  mosquito,  but 
her  craving  to  know  human  beings  well  had 
not  been  stilled.  She  made  up  her  mind  to  be 
bolder  and  never  stop  trying  until  she  had 
reached  her  goal. 

At  last  Maya's  longing  to  know  human 
beings  was  to  be  satisfied,  and  in  a  way  far, 
far  lovelier  and  more  wonderful  than  she  had 
dreamed. 

Once,  on  a  warm  evening,  having  gone  to 


140  MAYA  THE  BEE 

sleep  earlier  than  usual,  she  woke  up  suddenly 
in  the  middle  of  the  night — something  that  had 
never  happened  to  her  before.  When  she 
opened  her  eyes,  her  astonishment  was  inde- 
scribable: her  little  bedroom  was  all  steeped 
in  a  quiet  bluish  radiance.  It  came  down 
through  the  entrance,  and  the  entrance  itself 
shone  as  if  hung  with  a  silver-blue  curtain. 

Maya  did  not  dare  to  budge  at  first,  though 
not  because  she  was  frightened.  No.  Some- 
how, along  with  the  light  came  a  rare,  lovely 
peacefulness,  and  outside  her  room  the  air  was 
filled  with  a  sound  finer, more  harmonious  than 
any  music  she  had  ever  heard.  After  a  time 
she  rose  timidly,  awed  by  the  glamour  and  the 
strangeness  of  it  all,  and  looked  out.  The 
whole  world  seemed  to  lie  under  the  spell  of 
an  enchantment.  Everything  was  sparkling 
and  glittering  in  pure  silver.  The  trunks  of 
the  birch-trees,  the  slumbering  leaves  were 
overlaid  with  silver.  The  grass,  which  from 
her  height  seemed  to  lie  under  delicate  veils, 
was  set  with  a  thousand  pale  pearls.  All  things 
near  and  far,  the  silent  distances,  were 
shrouded  in  this  soft,  bluish  sheen* 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT    141 

"This  must  be  the  night,"  Maya  whispered 
and  folded  her  hands. 

High  up  in  the  heavens,  partly  veiled  by  the 
leaves  of  a  beech-tree,  hung  a  full  clear  disk 
of  silver,  from  which  the  radiance  poured 
down  that  beautified  the  world.  And  then 
Maya  saw  countless  bright,  sharp  little  lights 
surrounding  the  moon  in  the  heavens — oh,  so 
still  and  beautiful,  unlike  any  shining  things 
she  had  ever  seen  before.  To  think  she  beheld 
the  night,  the  moon,  and  the  stars — the  won- 
ders, the  lovely  wonders  of  the  night !  She  had 
heard  of  them  but  never  believed  in  them.  It 
was  almost  too  much. 

Then  the  sound  rose  again,  the  strange  night 
sound  that  must  have  awakened  her.  It  came 
from  nearby,  filling  the  welkin,  a  soaring 
chirp  with  a  silvery  ring  that  matched  the  sil- 
ver on  the  trees  and  leaves  and  grass  and 
seemed  to  come  rilling  down  from  the  moon 
on  the  beams  of  silver  light. 

Maya  looked  about  for  the  source,  in  vain; 
in  the  mysterious  drift  of  light  and  shadow  it 
was  difficult  to  make  out  objects  in  clear  out- 
line, everything  was  draped  so  mysteriously; 


142  MAYA  THE  BEE 

and  yet  everything  showed  up  true  and  in  such 
heroic  beauty. 

Her  room  could  keep  her  no  longer;  out 
she  had  to  fly  into  this  new  splendor,  the  night 
splendor. 

"The  good  Lord  will  take  care  of  me,"  she 
thought,  "I  am  not  bent  upon  wrong." 

As  she  was  about  to  fly  off  through  the  sil- 
ver light  to  her  favorite  meadow,  now  lying 
full  under  the  moon,  she  saw  a  winged  crea- 
ture alight  on  a  beech-tree  leaf  not  far  away. 
Scarcely  alighted,  it  raised  its  head  to  the 
moon,  lifted  its  narrow  wings,  and  drew  the 
edge  of  one  against  the  other,  for  all  the  world 
as  though  it  were  playing  on  a  violin.  And 
sure  enough,  the  sound  came,  the  silvery  chirp 
that  filled  the  whole  moonlit  world  with 
melody." 

"Exquisite,"  whispered  Maya,  "heavenly, 
heavenly,  heavenly." 

She  flew  over  to  the  leaf.  The  night  was  so 
mild  and  warm  that  she  did  not  notice  it  was 
cooler  than  by  day.  When  she  touched  the 
leaf,  the  chirper  broke  off  playing  abruptly, 
and  to  Maya  it  seemed  as  if  there  had  never 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT    143 

been  such  a  stillness  before,  so  profound  was 
the  hush  that  followed.  It  was  uncanny. 
Through  the  dark  leaves  filtered  the  light, 
white  and  cool. 

"Good  night,"  said  Maya,  politely,  thinking 
"good  night"  was  the  greeting  for  the  night 
like  "good  morning"  for  the  morning.  "Please 
excuse  me  for  interrupting,  but  the  music  you 
make  is  so  fascinating  that  I  had  to  find  out 
where  it  came  from." 

The  chirper  stared  at  Maya,  wide-eyed. 

"What  sort  of  a  crawling  creature  are  you?" 
it  asked  after  some  moments  had  passed.  "I 
have  never  met  one  like  you  before." 

"I  am  not  a  crawling  insect.  I  am  Maya, 
of  the  nation  of  bees." 

"Oh,  of  the  nation  of  bees.  Indeed  .  .  . 
you  live  by  day,  don't  you?  I  have  heard  of 
your  race  from  the  hedgehog.  He  told  me 
that  in  the  evening  he  eats  the  dead  bodies  that 
are  thrown  out  of  your  hive." 

"Yes,"  said  Maya,  with  a  faint  chill  of  ap- 
prehension, "that's  so;  Cassandra  told  me 
about  him;  she  heard  of  him  from  the  sen- 
tinels. He  comes  when  twilight  falls  and 


i44  MAYA  THE  BEE 

snouts  in  the  grass  looking  for  dead  bodies. — 
But  do  you  associate  with  the  hedgehog? 
Why,  he's  an  awful  brute." 

"I  don't  think  so.  We  tree-crickets  get 
along  with  him  splendidly.  We  call  him 
Uncle.  Of  course  he  always  tries  to  catch  us, 
but  he  never  succeeds,  so  we  have  great  fun 
teasing  him.  Everybody  has  to  live,  doesn't 
he?  Just  so  he  doesn't  live  off  me,  what  do  I 
care?" 

Maya  shook  her  head.  She  didn't  agree. 
But  not  caring  to  insult  the  cricket  by  contra- 
dicting, she  changed  the  subject. 

"So  you're  a  tree-cricket?" 

"Yes,  a  snowy  tree-cricket. — But  I  must 
play,  so  please  don't  keep  me  any  longer.  It's 
full  moon,  a  wonderful  night.  I  must  play." 

"Oh,  do  make  an  exception  this  once.  You 
play  all  the  time. — Tell  me  about  the 
night." 

"A  midsummer  night  is  the  loveliest  in  the 
world,"  answered  the  cricket.  "It  fills  the 
heart  with  rapture. — But  what  my  music 
doesn't  tell  you  I  shan't  be  able  to  explain. 
Why  need  everything  be  explained?  Why 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT    145 

know  everything?  We  poor  creatures  can 
find  out  only  the  tiniest  bit  about  existence. 
Yet  we  can  feel  the  glory  of  the  whole  wide 
world."  And  the  cricket  set  up  its  happy 
silvery  strumming.  Heard  from  close  by, 
where  Maya  sat,  the  music  was  overpowering 
in  its  loudness. 

The  little  bee  sat  quite  still  in  the  blue  sum- 
mer night  listening  and  musing  deeply  about 
life  and  creation. 

Silence  fell.  There  was  a  faint  whirr,  and 
Maya  saw  the  cricket  fly  out  into  the  moon- 
light. 

"The  night  makes  one  feel  sad,"  she  re- 
flected. 

Her  flowery  meadow  drew  her  now.  She 
flew  off. 

At  the  edge  of  the  brook  stood  the  tall  irises 
brokenly  reflected  in  the  running  water.  A 
glorious  sight.  The  moonlight  was  whirled 
along  in  the  braided  current,  the  wavelets 
winked  and  whispered,  the  irises  seemed  to 
lean  over  asleep.  "Asleep  from  sheer  de- 
light," thought  the  little  bee.  She  dropped 
down  on  a  blue  petal  in  the  full  light  of  the 


146  MAYA  THE  BEE 

moon  and  could  not  take  her  eyes  from  the  liv- 
ing waters  of  the  brook,  the  quivering  flash, 
the  flashing  come  and  go  of  countless  sparks. 
On  the  bank  opposite,  the  birch-trees  glittered 
as  if  hung  with  the  stars. 

"Where  is  all  that  water  flowing  to?"  she 
wondered.  "The  cricket  is  right.  We  know 
so  little  about  the  world." 

Of  a  sudden  a  fine  little  voice  rose  in  song 
from  the  flower  of  an  iris  close  beside  her, 
ringing  like  a  pure,  clear  bell,  different  from 
any  earthly  sound  that  Maya  knew.  Her  heart 
throbbed,  she  held  her  breath. 

"Oh,  what  is  going  to  happen?  What  am  I 
going  to  see  now?" 

The  iris  swayed  gently.  One  of  the  petals 
curved  in  at  the  edge,  and  Maya  saw  a  tiny 
snow-white  human  hand  holding  on  to  the 
flower's  rim  with  its  wee  little  fingers.  Then 
a  small  blond  head  arose,  and  then  a  delicate 
luminous  body  in  white  garments.  A  human 
being  in  miniature  was  coming  up  out  of  the 
iris. 

Words  cannot  tell  Maya's  awe  and  rapture. 
She  sat  rigid. 


A  HUMAN  BEING  IN  MINIATURE  WAS  COMING  Up  OUT  OF  THE  IRIS 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT    147 

The  tiny  being  climbed  to  the  edge  of  the 
blossom,  lifted  its  arms  up  to  the  moonlight, 
and  looked  out  into  the  bright  shining  night 
with  a  smile  of  bliss  lighting  up  its  face.  Then 
a  faint  quiver  shook  its  luminous  body,  and 
from  its  shoulders  two  wings  unfolded,  whiter 
than  the  moonlight,  pure  as  snow,  rising  above 
its  blond  head  and  reaching  down  to  its  feet. 
How  lovely  it  was,  how  exquisitely  lovely. 
Nothing  that  Maya  had  ever  seen  compared 
with  it  in  loveliness. 

Standing  there  in  the  moonlight,  holding  its 
hands  up  to  heaven,  the  luminous  little  being 
lifted  its  voice  again  and  sang.  The  song  rang 
out  in  the  night,  and  Maya  understood  the 
words. 


My  home  is  Light.    The  crystal  bowl 
Of  Heaven's  blue,  I  love  it  so! 
Both  Death  and  Life  will  change,  I  know, 

But  not  my  soul,  my  living  soul. 

My  soul  is  that  which  breathes  anew 
From  all  of  loveliness  and  grace; 
And  as  it  flows  from  God's  own  face, 

It  flows  from  His  creations,  too. 


148  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Maya  burst  into  sobs.  What  it  was  that 
made  her  so  sad  and  yet  so  happy,  she  could 
not  have  told. 

The  little  human  being  turned  around. 

"Who  is  crying?"  he  asked  in  his  chiming 
voice. 

"It's  only  me,"  stammered  Maya.  "Excuse 
me  for  interrupting  you." 

"But  why  are  you  crying?" 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  just  because  you 
are  so  beautiful.  Who  are  you?  Oh,  do  tell 
me,  if  I  am  not  asking  too  much.  You  are  an 
angel,  aren't  you?  You  must  be." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  little  creature,  quite  se- 
rious. "I  am  only  a  sprite,  a  flower-sprite. — 
But,  dear  little  bee,  what  are  you  doing  out 
here  in  the  meadow  so  late  at  night?" 

The  sprite  flew  over  to  a  curving  iris 
blade  beside  Maya  and  regarded  her  long 
and  kindly  from  his  swaying  perch  in  the 
moonlight. 

Maya  told  him  all  about  herself,  what  she 
had  done,  what  she  knew,  and  what  she  longed 
for.  And  while  she  spoke,  his  eyes  never  left 
her,  those  large  dark  eyes  glowing  in  the  white 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT     149 

fairy  face  under  the  golden  hair  that  ever  and 
anon  shone  like  silver  in  the  moonlight. 

When  she  finished  he  stroked  her  head  and 
looked  at  her  so  warmly  and  lovingly  that  the 
little  bee,  beside  herself  with  joy,  had  to  lower 
her  gaze. 

"We  sprites,"  he  explained,  "live  seven 
nights,  but  we  must  stay  in  the  flower  in  which 
we  are  born,  else  we  die  at  dawn." 

Maya  opened  her  eyes  wide  in  terror. 

"Then  hurry,  hurry!  Fly  back  into  your 
flower!" 

The,  sprite  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"Too  late. — But  listen.  I  have  more  to  tell 
you.  Most  of  us  sprites  are  glad  to  leave  our 
flowers  never  to  return,  because  a  great  hap- 
piness is  connected  with  our  leaving.  We  are 
endowed  with  a  remarkable  power :  before  we 
die,  we  can  fulfill  the  dearest  wish  of  the  first 
creature  we  meet.  It  is  when  we  make  up  our 
minds  seriously  to  leave  the  flower  for  the  pur- 
pose of  making  someone  happy  that  our  wings 
grow." 

"How  wonderful !"  cried  Maya.  "I'd  leave 
the  flower  too,  then.  It  must  be  lovely  to  ful- 


150  MAYA  THE  BEE 

fill  another  person's  wish."  That  she  was  the 
first  being  whom  the  sprite  on  his  flight  from 
the  flower  had  met,  did  not  occur  to  her.  "And 
then — must  you  die?" 

The  sprite  nodded,  but  not  sadly  this  time. 

"We  live  to  see  the  dawn  still,"  he  said,  "but 
when  the  dew  falls,  we  are  drawn  into  the 
fine  cobwebby  veils  that  float  above  the  grass 
and  the  flowers  of  the  meadows.  Haven't  you 
often  noticed  that  the  veils  shine  white  as 
though  a  light  were  inside  them?  It's  the 
sprites,  their  wings  and  their  garments. 
When  the  light  rises  we  change  into  dew- 
drops.  The  plants  drink  us  and  we  become 
a  part  of  their  growing  and  blooming  until 
in  time  we  rise  again  as  sprites  from  out  their 
flowers." 

"Then  you  were  once  another  sprite?" 
asked  Maya,  tense,  breathless  with  interest. 

The  earnest  eyes  said  yes. 

"But  I  have  forgotten  my  earlier  exist- 
ence. We  forget  everything  in  our  flower- 
sleep." 

"Oh,  what  a  lovely  fate!" 

"It  is  the  same  as  that  of  all  earthly  crea- 


WONDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT   151 

tures,  when  you  really  come  to  think  of  it, 
even  if  it  isn't  always  flowers  out  of  which 
they  wake  up  from  their  sleep  of  death.  But 
we  won't  talk  of  that  to-night." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  happy!"  cried  Maya. 

"Then  you  haven't  got  a  wish?  You're  the 
first  person  I've  met,  you  know,  and  I  possess 
the  power  to  grant  your  dearest  wish." 

"I?  But  I'm  only  a  bee.  No,  it's  too  much. 
It  would  be  too  great  a  joy.  I  don't  deserve 
it,  I  don't  deserve  that  you  should  be  so  good 
to  me." 

"No  one  deserves  the  good  and  the  beauti- 
ful. The  good  and  the  beautiful  come  to  us 
like  the  sunshine." 

Maya's  heart  beat  stormily.  Oh,  she  did 
have  a  wish,  a  burning  wish,  but  she  didn't 
dare  confess  it.  The  elf  seemed  to  guess;  he 
smiled  so  you  couldn't  keep  anything  a  secret 
from  him. 

"Well?"  He  stroked  his  golden  hair  off 
his  pure  forehead. 

"I'd  like  to  know  human  beings  at  their 
best  and  most  beautiful,"  said  the  little  bee. 
She  spoke  quickly  and  hotly.  She  was  afraid 


MAYA  THE  BEE 

she  would  be  told  that  so  great  a  wish  could 
not  be  granted. 

But  the  sprite  drew  himself  up,  his  expres- 
sion was  serious  and  serene,  his  eyes  shone 
with  confidence.  He  took  Maya's  trembling 
hand  and  said: 

"Come.  We'll  fly  together.  Your  wish 
shall  be  granted." 


CHAPTER  XI 

WITH   THE  SPRITE 

A[D    so    Maya    and    the    flower-sprite 
started  off  together  in  the  bright  mid- 
summer night,  flying  low  over  the  blos- 
somy  meadow.    His  white  reflection  crossing 
the  brook  shone  as  though  a  star  were  gliding 
through  the  water. 

How  happy  the  little  bee  was  to  confide  her- 
self to  this  gracious  being!  Whatever  he  were 
to  do,  wherever  he  were  to  lead  her  would  be 
good  and  right,  she  felt.  She  would  have 
liked  to  ask  him  a  thousand  questions  had  she 
dared. 

As  they  were  passing  between  a  double  row 
of  high  poplar-trees,  something  whirred 

153 


154  MAYA  THE  BEE 

above  them;  a  dark  moth,  as  big  and  strong 
as  a  bird,  crossed  their  way. 

"One  moment,  wait  one  moment,  please," 
the  sprite  called. 

Maya  was  surprised  to  see  how  readily  the 
moth  responded. 

All  three  alighted  on  a  high  poplar  branch, 
from  which  there  was  a  far  view  out  upon 
the  tranquil,  moonlit  landscape.  The  quaking 
leaves  whispered  delicately.  The  moth, 
perching  directly  opposite  Maya  in  the  full 
light  of  the  moon,  slowly  lifted  his  spread 
wings  and  dropped  them  again,  softly,  as  if 
gently  fanning — fanning  a  cool  breath  upon 
someone.  Broad,  diagonal  stripes  of  a 
gorgeous  bright  blue  marked  his  wings,  his 
black  head  was  covered  as  with  dark  velvet, 
his  face  was  like  a  strangely  mysterious  mask, 
out  of  which  glowed  a  pair  of  dark  eyes. 
How  wonderful  were  the  creatures  of  the 
night!  A  little  cold  shiver  ran  through  Maya, 
who  felt  she  was  dreaming  the  strangest 
dream  of  her  life. 

"You  are  beautiful,"  she  said  to  the  moth, 
"beautiful,  really."  She  was  awed  and  solemn. 


WITH  THE  SPRITE  155 

"Who  is  your  companion?"  the  moth  asked 
the  sprite. 

"A  bee.  I  met  her  just  as  I  was  leaving 
my  flower." 

The  moth  seemed  to  realize  what  that 
meant.  He  looked  at  Maya  almost  enviously. 

"You  fortunate  creature!"  he  said  in  a  low, 
serious,  musing  tone,  shaking  his  head  to 
and  fro. 

"Are  you  sad?"  asked  Maya  out  of  the 
warmth  of  her  heart. 

The  moth  shook  his  head. 

"No,  not  sad."  His  voice  sounded  friendly 
and  grateful,  and  he  gave  Maya  such  a  kind 
look  that  she  would  have  liked  to  strike  up 
a  friendship  with  him  then  and  there. 

"Is  the  bat  still  abroad,  or  has  he  gone  to 
rest?"  This  was  the  question  for  which  the 
sprite  had  stopped  the  moth. 

"Oh,  he's  gone  to  rest  long  ago.  You  want 
to  know,  do  you,  on  account  of  your  com- 
panion?" 

The  sprite  nodded.  Maya  was  dying  to  find 
out  what  a  bat  was,  but  the  sprite  seemed  to 
be  in  a  hurry.  With  a  charming  gesture  of 


156  MAYA  THE  BEE 

restlessness  he  tossed  his  shining  hair  back 
from  his  forehead. 

"Come,  Maya,"  he  said,  "we  must  hurry. 
The  night  is  so  short." 

"Shall  I  carry  you  part  of  the  way?"  asked 
the  moth. 

The  sprite  thanked  him  but  declined. 
"Some  other  time!"  he  called. 

"Then  it  will  be  never,"  thought  Maya  as 
they  flew  away,  "because  at  dawn  the  flower- 
sprite  must  die." 

The  moth  remained  on  the  leaf  looking 
after  them  until  the  glimmer  of  the  fairy  gar- 
ments grew  smaller  and  smaller  and  finally 
sank  into  the  depths  of  the  blue  distance. 
Then  he  turned  his  face  slowly  and  surveyed 
his  great  dark  wings  with  their  broad  blue 
stripes.  He  sank  into  revery. 

"So  often  I  have  heard  that  I  am  gray  and 
ugly,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  that  my  dress 
is  not  to  be  compared  with  the  superb  robes 
of  the  butterfly.  But  the  little  bee  saw  only 
what  is  beautiful  in  me. — And  she  asked  me 
if  I  was  sad.  I  wonder  whether  I  am  or  not. 
— No,  I  am  not  sad,"  he  decided,  "not  now." 


WITH  THE  SPRITE  157 

Meanwhile  Maya  and  the  flower-sprite  flew 
through  the  dense  shrubbery  of  a  garden.  The 
glory  of  it  in  the  dimmed  moonlight  was  be- 
yond the  power  of  mortal  lips  to  say.  An  in- 
toxicatingly  sweet  cool  breath  of  dew  and 
slumbering  flowers  transformed  all  things  into 
unutterable  blessings.  The  lilac  grapes  of  the 
acacias  sparkled  in  freshness,  the  June  rose- 
tree  looked  like  a  small  blooming  heaven  hung 
with  red  lamps,  the  white  stars  of  the  jasmine 
glowed  palely,  sadly,  and  poured  out  their 
perfume  as  if,  in  this  one  hour,  to  make  a  gift 
of  their  all. 

Maya  was  dazed.  She  pressed  the  sprite's 
hand  and  looked  at  him.  A  light  of  bliss 
shone  from  his  eyes. 

"Who  could  have  dreamed  of  this!"  whis- 
pered the  little  bee. 

Just  then  she  saw  something  that  sent  a 
pang  through  her. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "look!  A  star  has  fallen! 
It's  straying  about  and  can't  find  its  way  back 
to  its  place  in  the  sky." 

"That's  a  firefly,"  said  the  flower-sprite, 
without  a  smile. 


158  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Now,  in  the  midst  of  her  amazement,  Maya 
realized  for  the  first  time  why  the  sprite 
seemed  so  dear  and  kind.  He  never  laughed 
at  her  ignorance;  on  the  contrary,  he  helped 
her  when  she  went  wrong. 

"They  are  odd  little  creatures,"  the  sprite 
continued.  "They  carry  their  own  light  about 
with  them  on  warm  summer  nights  and  en- 
liven the  dark  under  the  shrubbery  where  the 
moonlight  doesn't  shine  through.  So  firefly 
can  keep  tryst  with  firefly  even  in  the  dark. 
Later,  when  we  come  to  the  human  beings, 
you  will  make  the  acquaintance  of  one  of 
them." 

"Why?"  asked  Maya. 

"You'll  soon  see." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  an  arbor  com- 
pletely overgrown  with  jasmine  and  wood- 
bine. They  descended  almost  to  the  ground. 
From  close  by,  within  the  arbor,  came  the 
sound  of  faint  whispering.  The  flower-sprite 
beckoned  to  a  firefly. 

"Would  you  be  good  enough,"  he  asked,  "to 
give  us  a  little  light?  We  have  to  push 
through  these  dark  leaves  here;  we  want  to 


WITH  THE  SPRITE  159 

get  to  the  inside  of  the  jasmine-arbor." 

"But  your   glow   is   much   brighter   than 


mine." 


"I  think  so,  too,"  put  in  Maya,  more  to  hide 
her  excitement  than  anything  else. 

"I  must  wrap  myself  up  in  a  leaf,"  ex- 
plained the  sprite,  else  the  human  beings 
would  see  me  and  be  frightened.  We  sprites 
appear  to  human  beings  only  in  their 
dreams." 

"I  see,"  said  the  firefly.  "I  am  at  your 
service.  I  will  do  what  I  can. — Won't  the 
great  beast  with  you  hurt  me?" 

The  sprite  shook  his  head  no,  and  the  firefly 
believed  him. 

The  sprite  now  took  a  leaf  and  wrapped 
himself  in  it;  the  gleam  of  his  white  garments 
was  completely  hidden.  Then  he  picked  a 
little  bluebell  from  the  grass  and  put  it  on  his 
shining  head  like  a  helmet.  The  only  bit  of 
him  left  exposed  was  his  face,  which  was  so 
small  that  surely  no  one  would  notice  it.  He 
asked  the  firefly  to  perch  on  his  shoulder  and 
with  its  wing  to  dim  its  lamp  on  the  one  side 
so  as  to  keep  the  dazzle  out  of  his  eyes. 


160  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"Come  now,"  he  said,  taking  Maya's  hand. 
"We  had  better  climb  up  right  here." 

The  little  bee  was  thinking  of  something 
the  sprite  had  said,  and  as  they  clambered  up 
the  vine,  she  asked : 

"Do  human  beings  dream  when  they 
sleep?" 

"Not  only  then.  They  dream  sometimes 
even  when  they  are  awake.  They  sit  with 
their  bodies  a  little  limp,  their  heads  bent  a 
little  forward,  and  their  eyes  searching  the 
distance,  as  if  to  see  into  the  very  heavens. 
Their  dreams  are  always  lovelier  than  life. 
That's  why  we  appear  to  them  in  their 
dreams." 

The  sprite  now  laid  his  tiny  ringer  on  his 
lips,  bent  aside  a  small  blooming  sprig  of  jas- 
mine, and  gently  pushed  Maya  ahead. 

"Look  down,"  he  said  softly,  "you'll  see 
what  you  have  been  wishing  to  see." 

The  little  bee  looked  and  saw  two  human 
beings  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  shadows  cast 
by  the  moonlight — a  boy  and  a  girl,  the  girl 
with  her  head  leaning  on  the  boy's  shoulder, 
and  the  boy  holding  his  arm  around  the  girl 


WITH  THE  SPRITE  161 

as  if  to  protect  her.  They  sat  in  complete  still- 
ness, looking  wide-eyed  into  the  night.  It  was 
as  quiet  as  if  they  had  both  gone  to  sleep. 
Only  from  a  distance  came  the  chirping  of 
the  crickets,  and  slowly,  slowly  the  moonlight 
drifted  through  the  leaves. 

Maya,  transported  out  of  herself,  gazed  into 
the  girl's  face.  Although  it  looked  pale  and 
wistful,  it  seemed  to  be  transfused  by  the 
hidden  radiance  of  a  great  happiness.  Above 
her  large  eyes  lay  golden  hair,  like  the  golden 
hair  of  the  sprite,  and  upon  it  rested  the  heav- 
enly sheen  of  the  midsummer  night.  From 
her  red  lips,  slightly  parted,  came  a  breath 
of  rapture  and  melancholy,  as  if  she  wanted 
to  offer  everything  that  was  hers  to  the  man 
by  her  side  for  his  happiness. 

And  now  she  turned  to  him,  pulled  his  head 
down,  and. whispered  a  magical  something 
that  brought  a  smile  to  his  face  such  as  Maya 
thought  no  earthly  being  could  wear.  In  his 
eyes  gleamed  a  happiness  and  a  vigor  as  if  the 
whole  big  world  were  his  to  own,  and  suffer- 
ing and  misfortune  were  banished  forever 
from  the  face  of  the  earth. 


1 62  MAYA  THE  BEE 

Maya  somehow  had  no  desire  to  know  what 
he  said  to  the  girl  in  reply.  Her  heart  quiv- 
ered as  though  the  ecstasy  that  emanated  from 
the  two  human  beings  was  also  hers. 

"Now  I  have  seen  the  most  glorious  thing 
that  my  eyes  will  ever  behold,"  she  whispered 
to  herself.  "I  know  now  that  human  beings 
are  most  beautiful  when  they  are  in  love." 

How  long  Maya  stayed  behind  the  leaves 
without  stirring,  lost  in  looking  at  the  boy 
and  girl,  she  did  not  know.  When  she  turned 
round,  the  firefly's  lamp  had  been  extin- 
guished, the  sprite  was  gone.  Through  the 
doorway  of  the  arbor  far  across  the  country 
on  the  distant  horizon  showed  a  narrow  streak 
of  red. 


, 

- 


1 


CHAPTER  XII 

ALOIS,   LADYBIRD   AND   POET 

sun  was  risen  high  above  the 
tops  of  the  beech-trees  when  Maya 
awoke  in  her  woodland  retreat.  In 
the  first  moments,  the  moonlight,  the  chirping 
of  the  cricket,  the  midsummer  night  meadow, 
the  lovely  sprite,  the  boy  and  the  girl  in  the 
arbor,  all  seemed  the  perishing  fancies  of  a 
delicious  dream.  Yet  here  it  was  almost  mid- 
day; and  she  remembered  slipping  back  into 
her  chamber  in  the  chill  of  dawn.  So  it  had 
all  been  real,  she  had  spent  the  night  with  the 
flower-sprite  and  had  seen  the  two  human  be- 
ings, with  their  arms  round  each  other,  in  the 
arbor  of  woodbine  and  jasmine. 

163 


1 64.  MAYA  THE  BEE 

The  sun  outside  was  glowing  hot  on  the 
leaves,  a  warm  wind  was  stirring,  and  Maya 
heard  the  mixed  chorus  of  thousands  of 
insects.  Ah,  what  these  knew,  and  what  she 
knew!  So  proud  was  she  of  the  great  thing 
that  had  happened  to  her  that  she  couldn't  get 
out  to  the  others  fast  enough ;  she  thought  they 
must  read  it  in  her  very  looks. 

But  in  the  sunlight  everything  was  the  same 
as  ever.  Nothing  was  changed;  nothing  re- 
called the  blue  moonlit  night.  The  insects 
came,  said  how-do-you-do,  and  left;  yonder, 
the  meadow  was  a  scene  of  bustling  activity; 
the  insects,  birds  and  butterflies  hopped,  flew 
and  flitted  in  the  hot  flickering  air  around 
the  tall,  gay  midsummer  flowers. 

Sadness  fell  upon  Maya.  There  was  no 
one  in  the  world  to  share  her  joys  and  sor- 
rows. She  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  to  fly 
over  and  join  the  others  in  the  meadow.  No, 
she  would  go  to  the  woods.  The  woods  were 
serious  and  solemn.  They  suited  her  mood. 

How  many  mysteries  and  marvels  lie  hid- 
den in  the  dim  depths  of  the  woods,  no  one 
suspects  who  hurries  unobservant  along  the 


ALOIS.  LADYBIRD,  POET       165 

beaten  tracks.  You  must  bend  aside  the 
branches  of  the  underbrush,  or  lean  down  and 
peep  between  the  blackberry  briars  through 
the  tall  grasses  and  across  the  thick  moss.  Un- 
der the  shaded  leaves  of  the  plants,  in  holes  in 
the  ground  and  tree-trunks,  in  the  decaying 
bark  of  stumps,  in  the  curl  and  twist  of  the 
roots  that  coil  on  the  ground  like  serpents, 
there  is  an  active,  multiform  life  by  day  and 
by  night,  full  of  joys  and  dangers,  struggles 
and  sorrows  and  pleasures. 

Maya  divined  only  a  little  of  this  as  she  flew 
low  between  the  dark-brown  trunks  under 
the  leafy  roof  of  green.  She  followed  a  nar- 
row trail  in  the  grass,  which  made  a  clear 
path  through  thicket  and  clearing.  Now  and 
then  the  sun  seemed  to  disappear  behind 
clouds,  so  deep  was  the  shade  under  the  high 
foliage  and  in  the  close  shrubbery;  but  soon 
she  was  flying  again  through  a  bright  shim- 
mer of  gold  and  green  above  the  broad-leaved 
miniature  forests  of  bracken  and  blackberry. 

After  a  long  stretch  the  woods  opened  their 
columned  and  over-arched  portals;  before 
Maya's  eyes  lay  a  wide  field  of  grain  in  the 


1 66  MAYA  THE  BEE 

golden  sunshine.  Butterfly-weed  flamed  on 
the  grassy  borders.  She  alighted  on  the 
branch  of  a  birch-tree  at  the  edge  of  the  field 
and  gazed  upon  the  sea  of  gold  that  spread 
out  endlessly  in  the  tranquillity  of  the  placid 
day.  It  rippled  softly  under  the  shy  summer 
breeze,  which  blew  gently  so  as  not  to  disturb 
the  peace  of  the  lovely  world. 

Under  the  birch-tree  a  few  small  brown 
butterflies,  using  the  butterfly-weed  for  cor- 
ners, were  playing  puss-in-the-corner,  a 
favorite  game  with  butterfly-children.  Maya 
watched  them  a  while. 

"It  must  be  lots  of  fun,"  she  thought,  "and 
the  children  in  the  hive  might  be  taught  to 
play  it,  too.  The  cells  would  do  for  corners. — 
But  Cassandra,  I  suppose,  wouldn't  permit  it. 
She's  so  strict." 

Ah,  now  Maya  felt  sad  again.  Because  she 
had  thought  of  home.  And  she  was  about  to 
drift  off  into  homesick  revery  when  she  heard 
someone  beside  her  say: 

"Good  morning.  You're  a  beast,  it  seems 
to  me." 

Maya  turned  with  a  start. 


ALOIS,  LADYBIRD,  POET       167 

"No,"  she  said,  "decidedly  not." 

There  sitting  on  her  leaf  was  a  little  pol- 
ished terra-cotta  half-sphere  with  seven  black 
dots  on  its  cupola  of  a  back,  a  minute  black 
head  and  bright  little  eyes.  Peeping  from 
under  the  dotted  dome  and  supporting  it  as 
best  they  could  Maya  detected  thin  legs  fine 
as  threads.  In  spite  of  his  queer  figure,  she 
somehow  took  a  great  liking  to  the  stout  little 
fellow;  he  had  distinct  charm. 

"May  I  ask  who  you  are?  I  myself  am 
Maya  of  the  nation  of  bees." 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me?  You  have  no 
reason  to." 

"But  why  should  I?  I  don't  know  you, 
really  I  don't."  Maya  was  quite  upset. 

"It's  easy  to  say  you  don't  know  me. — 
Well,  I'll  jog  your  memory.  Count."  And 
the  little  rotundity  began  to  wheel  round 
slowly. 

"You  mean  I'm  to  count  your  dots?" 

"Yes,  if  you  please." 

"Seven,"  said  Maya. 

"Well?— Well?  You  still  don't  know. 
All  right  then,  I'll  tell  you.  I'm  called  ex- 


1 68  MAYA  THE  BEE 

actly  according  to  what  you  counted.  The 
scientific  name  of  our  family  is  Septempunc- 
tata.  Septem  is  Latin  for  seven,  punctata  is 
Latin  for  dots,  points,  you  see.  Our  common 
name  is  ladybird,  my  own  name  is  Alois,  I  am 
a  poet  by  profession.  You  know  our  com- 
mon name,  of  course." 

Maya,  afraid  of  hurting  Alois'  feelings, 
didn't  dare  to  say  no. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "I  live  by  the  sunshine,  by 
the  peace  of  the  day,  and  by  the  love  of  man- 
kind." 

"But  don't  you  eat,  too?"  asked  Maya,  quite 
astonished. 

"Of  course.    Plant-lice.    Don't  you?" 

"No.    That  would  be— that  is.  .  .  ." 

"Is  what?    Is  what?" 

"Not — usual,"  said  Maya  shyly. 

"Of  course,  of  course!"  cried  Alois,  trying 
to  raise  one  shoulder,  but  not  succeeding,  on 
account  of  the  firm  set  of  his  dome.  "As  a 
bourgeoise  you  would,  of  course,  do  only  what 
is  usual.  We  poets  would  not  get  very  far 
that  way. — Have  you  time?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Maya. 


ALOIS,  LADYBIRD,  POET       169 

"Then  I'll  recite  you  one  of  my  poems.  Sit 
real  still  and  close  your  eyes,  so  that  nothing 
distracts  your  attention.  The  poem  is  called 
Man's  Finger,  and  is  about  a  personal  experi- 
ence. Are  you  listening?" 

"Yes,  to  every  word." 

"Well,  then: 

"  'Since  you  did  not  do  me  wrong, 
That  you  found  me,  doesn't  matter. 

You  are  rounded,  you  are  long; 
Up  above  you  wear  a  flatter, 
Pointed,  polished  sheath  or  platter 

Which  you  move  as  swift  as  light, 

But  below  you're  fastened  tight!'  ' 

"Well?"  asked  Alois  after  a  short  pause. 
There  were  tears  in  his  eyes  and  a  quaver  in 
his  voice. 

"Man's  Finger  gripped  me  very  hard,"  re- 
plied Maya  -in  some  embarrassment.  She 
really  knew  much  lovelier  poems. 

"How  do  you  find  the  form?"  Alois  ques- 
tioned with  a  smile  of  fine  melancholy.  He 
seemed  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  effect  he 
had  produced. 


170  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"Long  and  round.    You  yourself  said  so  in 
the  poem." 

"I  mean  the  artistic  form,  the  form  of  my 


verse." 


"Oh — oh,  yes.  Yes,  I  thought  it  was  very 
good." 

"It  is,  isn't  it!"  cried  Alois.  "What  you 
mean  to  say  is  that  Man's  Finger  may  be 
ranked  among  the  best  poems  you  know  of, 
and  one  must  go  way  back  in  literature  before 
one  comes  across  anything  like  it.  The  prime 
requisite  in  art  is  that  it  should  contain  some- 
thing new,  which  is  what  most  poets  forget. 
And  bigness,  too.  Don't  you  agree  with  me?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Maya,  "I  think  .  .  ." 

"The  firm  belief  you  express  in  my  impor- 
tance as  a  poet  really  overwhelms  me.  I 
thank  you. — But  I  must  be  going  now,  for 
solitude  is  the  poet's  pride.  Farewell." 

"Farewell,"  echoed  Maya,  who  really 
didn't  know  just  what  the  little  fellow  had 
been  after. 

"Well,"  she  thought,  "he  knows.  Perhaps 
he's  not  full  grown  yet;  he  certainly  isn't 
large."  She  looked  after  him,  as  he  hastened 


ALOIS,  LADYBIRD,  POET       171 

up  the  branch.  His  wee  legs  were  scarcely 
visible;  he  looked  as  though  he  were  moving 
on  low  rollers. 

Maya  turned  her  gaze  away,  back  to  the 
golden  field  of  grain  over  which  the  butter- 
flies were  playing.  The  field  and  the  butter- 
flies gave  her  ever  so  much  more  pleasure 
than  the  poetry  of  Alois,  ladybird  and  poet. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   FORTRESS 

HOW  happily  the  day  had  begun  and 
how  miserably  it  was  to  end! 
Before  the  horror  swept  upon  her, 
Maya  had  formed  a  very  remarkable  ac- 
quaintance. It  was  in  the  afternoon  near  a 
big  old  water-butt.  She  was  sitting  amid  the 
scented  elder  blossoms,  which  lay  mirrored  in 
the  placid  dark  surface  of  the  butt,  and  a 
robin  redbreast  was  warbling  overhead,  so 
sweetly  and  merrily  that  Maya  thought  it  was 
a  shame,  a  crying  shame  that  she,  a  bee,  could 
not  make  friends  with  the  charming  songsters. 
The  trouble  was,  they  were  too  big  and  ate 

you  up. 

172 


THE  FORTRESS  173 

She  had  hidden  herself  in  the  heart  of  the 
elder  blossoms  and  was  listening  and  blinking 
under  the  pointed  darts  of  the  sunlight,  when 
she  heard  someone  beside  her  sigh.  Turning 
round  she  saw — well,  now  it  really  was  the 
strangest  of  all  the  strange  creatures  she  had 
ever  met.  It  must  have  had  at  least  a  hun- 
dred legs  along  each  side  of  its  body — so  she 
thought  at  first  glance.  It  was  about  three 
times  her  size,  and  slim,  low,  and  wingless. 

"For  goodness  sake!  Mercy  on  mel" 
Maya  was  quite  startled.  "You  must  cer- 
tainly be  able  to  run !" 

The  stranger  gave  her  a  pondering  look. 

"I  doubt  it,"  he  said.  "I  doubt  it.  There's 
room  for  improvement.  I  have  too  many  legs. 
You  see,  before  all  my  legs  can  be  set  in  mo- 
tion, too  much  time  is  lost.  I  didn't  use  to  real- 
ize this,  and  often  wished  I  had  a  few  more 
legs.  But  God's  will  be  done. — Who  are  you?" 

Maya  introduced  herself.  The  other  one 
nodded  and  moved  some  of  his  legs. 

"I  am  Thomas  of  the  family  of  millepeds. 
We  are  an  old  race,  and  we  arouse  admiration 
and  astonishment  in  all  parts  of  the  globe.  No 


174  MAYA  THE  BEE 

other  animals  can  boast  anything  like  our 
number  of  legs.  Eight  is  their  limit,  so  far 
as  I  know." 

"You  are  tremendously  interesting.  And  your 
color  is  so  queer.    Have  you  got  a  family?" 

'Why,  no!  Why  should  I?  What  good 
would  a  family  do  me?  We  millepeds  crawl 
out  of  our  eggs;  that's  all.  If  we  can't  stand 
on  our  own  feet,  who  should?" 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  Maya  observed 
thoughtfully.  "But  have  you  no  relations?" 

"No,  dear  child.  I  earn  my  living,  and 
doubt.  I  doubt." 

"Oh!    What  do  you  doubt?" 

"I  was  born  doubting.    I  must  doubt." 

Maya  stared  at  him  in  wide-eyed  bewilder- 
ment. What  did  he  mean,  what  could  he  pos- 
sibly mean?  She  couldn't  for  the  life  of  her 
make  out,  but  she  did  not  want  to  pry  too 
curiously  into  his  private  affairs. 

"For  one  thing,"  said  Thomas  after  a  pause, 
"for  one  thing  I  doubt  whether  you  have 
chosen  a  good  place  to  rest  in.  Don't  you 
know  what's  over  there  in  the  big  willow?" 

"No." 


THE  FORTRESS  175 

"You  see!  I  doubted  right  away  if  you 
knew.  The  city  of  the  hornets  is  over  there." 

Maya  turned  deathly  white  and  nearly  fell 
off  the  elder  blossoms.  In  a  voice  shaking  with 
fright,  she  asked  just  where  the  city  was. 

"Do  you  see  that  old  nesting-box  for  star- 
lings, there  in  the  shrubbery  near  the  trunk 
of  the  willow-tree?  It's  so  poorly  placed  that 
I  doubted  from  the  first  whether  starlings 
would  ever  move  in.  If  a  bird-house  isn't  set 
with  its  door  facing  the  sunrise,  every  decent 
bird  will  think  twice  before  taking  possession. 
Well,  the  hornets  have  entrenched  themselves 
in  it.  It's  the  biggest  hornets'  fortress  in  the 
country.  You  as  a  bee  certainly  ought  to 
know  of  the  place.  Why,  the  hornets  are 
brigands  who  lie  in  wait  for  you  bees.  So, 
at  least,  I  have  observed." 

Maya  scarcely  heard  what  he  was  saying. 
There,  showing  clear  against  the  green,  she 
saw  the  brown  walls  of  the  fortress.  She 
almost  stopped  breathing. 

"I  must  fly  away,"  she  cried. 

Too  late!  Behind  her  sounded  a  loud, 
mean  laugh.  At  the  same  moment  the  little 


176  MAYA  THE  BEE 

bee  felt  herself  caught  by  the  neck,  so  vio- 
lently that  she  thought  her  joints  were  broken. 
It  was  a  laugh  she  would  never  forget,  like  a 
vile  taunt  out  of  hellish  darkness.  Mingling 
with  it  was  another  gruesome  sound,  the 
awful  clanking  of  armor. 

Thomas  let  go  with  all  his  legs  at  once  and 
tumbled  head  over  heels  through  the  branches 
into  the  water-butt. 

"I  doubt  if  you  get  away  alive,"  he  called 
back.  But  the  poor  little  bee  no  longer  heard. 

She  couldn't  see  her  assailant,  her  neck  was 
caught  in  too  firm  a  grip,  but  a  gilt-sheathed 
arm  passed  before  her  eyes,  and  a  huge  head 
with  dreadful  pincers  suddenly  thrust  itself 
above  her  face.  She  took  it  at  first  to  belong 
to  a  gigantic  wasp,  but  then  realized  that  she 
had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  a  hornet.  The 
black-and-yellow  striped  monster  was  surely 
four  times  her  size. 

Maya  lost  sight,  hearing,  speech;  every 
nerve  in  her  body  went  faint.  At  length  her 
voice  came  back,  and  she  screamed  for  help. 

"Never  mind,  girlie,"  said  the  hornet  in  a 
honey-sweet  tone  that  was  sickening.  "Never 


THE  FORTRESS  177 

mind.  It'll  last  until  it's  over."  He  smiled  a 
baleful  smile. 

"Let  go!"  cried  Maya.  "Let  me  go!  Or 
I'll  sting  you  in  your  heart." 

"In  my  heart  right  away?  Very  brave. 
But  there's  time  for  that  later." 

Maya  went  into  a  fury.  Summoning  all  her 
strength,  she  twisted  herself  around,  uttered 
her  shrill  battle-cry,  and  directed  her  sting 
against  the  middle  of  the  hornet's  breast.  To 
her  amazement  and  horror,  the  sting,  instead 
of  piercing  his  breast,  swerved  on  the  surface. 
The  brigand's  armor  was  impervious. 

Wrath  gleamed  in  his  eyes. 

"I  could  bite  your  head  off,  little  one,  to 
punish  you  for  your  impudence.  And  I 
would,  too,  I  would  indeed,  but  for  our  queen. 
She  prefers  fresh  bees  to  dead  carcasses.  So  a 
good  soldier  saves  a  juicy  morsel  like  you  to 
bring  to  her  alive." 

The  hornet,  with  Maya  still  in  his  grip,  rose 
into  the  air  and  made  directly  for  the  fortress. 

"This  is  too  awful,"  thought  the  poor  little 
bee.  "No  one  can  stand  this."  She  fainted. 

When  she  came  to  her  senses,  she  found  her- 


178  MAYA  THE  BEE 

self  in  half  darkness,  in  a  sultry  dusk  per- 
meated by  a  horrid,  pungent  smell.  Slowly 
everything  came  back  to  her.  A  great  par- 
alyzing sadness  settled  in  her  heart.  She 
wanted  to  cry:  the  tears  refused  to  come. 

"I  haven't  been  eaten  up  yet,  but  I  may  be, 
any  moment,"  she  thought  in  a  tremble. 

Through  the  walls  of  her  prison  she  caught 
the  distinct  sound  of  voices,  and  soon  she 
noticed  that  a  little  light  filtered  through  a 
narrow  chink.  The  hornets  make  their  walls, 
not  of  wax  like  the  bees,  but  of  a  dry  mass  re- 
sembling porous  grey  paper.  By  the  one 
thread  of  light  she  managed  bit  by  bit  to  make 
out  her  surroundings.  Horror  of  horrors  I 
Maya  was  almost  congealed  with  fright:  the 
floor  was  strewn  with  the  bodies  of  dead  in- 
sects. At  her  very  feet  lay  a  little  rose-beetle 
turned  over  on  its  back;  to  one  side  was  the 
skeleton  of  a  large  locust  broken  in  two,  and 
everywhere  were  the  remains  of  slaughtered 
bees,  their  wings  and  legs  and  sheaths. 

"Oh,  oh,  to  think  this  had  to  happen  to  me," 
whimpered  little  Maya.  She  did  not  dare  to 
stir  the  fraction  of  an  inch  and  pressed  herself 


THE  FORTRESS  179 

shivering  into  the  farthest  corner  of  this 
chamber  of  horrors. 

Again  she  heard  voices  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall.  Impelled  by  mortal  fear,  she  crept 
up  to  the  chink  and  peeped  through.  What 
she  saw  was  a  vast  hall  crowded  with  hornets 
and  magnificently  illuminated  by  a  number  of 
captive  glow-worms.  Enthroned  in  their 
midst  sat  the  queen,  who  seemed  to  be  holding 
an  important  council.  Maya  caught  every 
word  that  was  said. 

If  those  glittering  monsters  had  not  inspired 
her  with  such  unspeakable  horror,  she  would 
have  gone  into  raptures  over  their  strength 
and  magnificence.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  had  a  good  view  of  any  of  the  race  of 
brigands.  Tigers  they  looked  like,  superb 
tigers  of  the  insect  world,  with  their  tawny 
black-barred  bodies.  A  shiver  of  awe  ran 
through  the  little  bee. 

A  sergeant-at-arms  went  about  the  walls  of 
the  hall  ordering  the  glow-worms  to  give  all 
the  light  they  could;  they  must  strain  them- 
selves to  the  utmost.  He  muttered  his  com- 
mands in  a  low  voice,  so  as  not  to  interrupt 


i8o  MAYA  THE  BEE 

the  deliberations,  and  thrust  at  them  with  a 
long  spear,  hissing  as  he  did  so: 

"Light  up,  or  I'll  eat  you!" 

Terrible  the  things  that  were  done  in  the 
fortress  of  the  hornets! 

Then  Maya  heard  the  queen  say: 

"Very  well,  we  shall  abide  by  the  arrange- 
ments we  have  made.  To-morrow,  one  hour 
before  dawn,  the  warriors  will  assemble  and 
sally  forth  to  the  attack  on  the  city  of  the  bees 
in  the  castle  park.  The  hive  is  to  be  plun- 
dered and  as  many  prisoners  taken  as  pos- 
sible. He  who  captures  Queen  Helen  VIII 
and  brings  her  to  me  alive  will  be  dubbed  a 
knight.  Go  forth  and  be  brave  and  victorious 
and  bring  back  rich  booty. — The  meeting  is 
herewith  adjourned.  Sleep  well,  my  war- 
riors. I  bid  you  good-night." 

The  queen-hornet  rose  from  her  throne  and 
left  the  hall  accompanied  by  her  body-guard. 

Maya  nearly  cried  out  loud. 

"My  country!"  she  sobbed,  "my  bees,  my 
dear,  dear  bees!"  She  pressed  her  hands  to 
her  mouth  to  keep  herself  from  screaming. 
She  was  in  the  depths  of  despair.  "Oh,  would 


THE  FORTRESS  181 

that  I  had  died  before  I  heard  this.  No  one 
will  warn  my  people.  They  will  be  attacked 
in  their  sleep  and  massacred.  O  God,  per- 
form a  miracle,  help  me,  help  me  and  my 
people.  Our  need  is  great!" 

In  the  hall  the  glow-worms  were  put  out 
and  devoured.  Gradually  the  fortress  was 
wrapped  in  a  hush.  Maya  seemed  to  have 
been  forgotten.  A  faint  twilight  crept  into 
her  cell,  and  she  thought  she  caught  the  strum- 
ming of  the  crickets'  night  song  outside. — Was 
anything  more  horrible  than  this  dungeon 
with  its  carcasses  strewn  on  the  ground! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SENTINEL 

SOON,  however,  the  little  bee's  despair 
yielded  to  a  definite  resolve.     It  was 
as  though  she  once  more  called  to  mind 
that  she  was  a  bee. 

"Here  I  am  weeping  and  wailing,"  she 
thought,  "as  if  I  had  no  brains  and  as  if  I  were 
a  weakling.  Oh,  I'm  not  much  of  an  honor 
to  my  people  and  my  queen.  They  are  in  dan- 
ger. I  am  doomed  anyhow.  So  since  death 
is  certain  one  way  or  another,  I  may  as  well 
be  proud  and  brave  and  do  everything  I  can 
to  try  to  save  them." 

It  was  as  though  Maya  had  completely  for- 
gotten the  long  time  that  had  passed  since  she 

182 


THE  SENTINEL  183 

left  her  home.  More  strongly  than  ever  she 
felt  herself  one  of  her  people;  and  the  great 
responsibility  that  suddenly  devolved  upon 
her,  through  the  knowledge  of  the  hornets' 
plot,  rilled  her  with  fine  courage  and  determi- 
nation. 

"If  my  people  are  to  be  vanquished  and 
killed,  I  want  to  be  killed,  too.  But  first  I 
must  do  everything  in  my  power  to  save 
them." 

"Long  live  my  queen !"  she  cried. 

"Quiet  in  there!"  clanged  harshly  from  the 
outside. 

Ugh,  what  an  awful  voice! — The  watch- 
man making  his  rounds. — Then  it  was  already 
late  in  the  night. 

As  soon  as  the  watchman's  footsteps  had 
died  away,  Maya  began  to  widen  the  chink 
through  which  she  had  peeped  into  the  hall. 
It  was  easy  to  b'ite  away  the  brittle  stuff  of  the 
partition,  though  it  took  some  time  before  the 
opening  was  large  enough  to  admit  her  body. 
At  length,  in  the  full  knowledge  that  discov- 
ery would  cost  her  her  life,  she  squeezed 
through  into  the  hall.  From  remote  depths 


184  MAYA  THE  BEE 

of  the  fortress  echoed  the  sound  of  loud 
snoring. 

The  hall  lay  in  a  subdued  blue  light  that 
found  its  way  in  through  the  distant  en- 
trance. 

"The  moonlight!"  Maya  said  to  herself. 
She  began  to  creep  cautiously  toward  the  exit, 
cowering  close  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
walls,  until  she  reached  the  high,  narrow 
passageway  that  led  from  the  hall  to  the  open- 
ing through  which  the  light  shone.  She 
heaved  a  deep  sigh.  Far,  far  away  glim- 
mered a  star. 

"Liberty!"  she  thought. 

The  passageway  was  quite  bright.  Softly, 
stepping  oh  so  very  softly,  Maya  crept  on. 
The  portal  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"If  I  fly  now,"  she  thought,  "I'll  be  out  in 
one  dash."  Her  heart  pounded  as  if  ready  to 
burst. 

But  there  in  the  shadow  of  the  doorway 
stood  a  sentinel  leaning  against  a  column. 

Maya  stood  still,  rooted  to  the  spot.  Van- 
ished all  her  hopes.  Gone  the  chance  of 
escape.  There  was  no  getting  by  that  formid- 


THE  SENTINEL  185 

able  figure.  What  was  she  to  do?  Best  go 
back  where  she  had  come  from.  But  the  sight 
of  the  giant  in  the  doorway  held  her  in  a  spell. 
He  seemed  to  be  lost  in  revery.  He  stood  gaz- 
ing out  upon  the  moon-washed  landscape, 
his  head  tilted  slightly  forward,  his  chin 
propped  on  his  hand.  How  his  golden  cuirass 
gleamed  in  the  moonlight!  Something  in 
the  way  he  stood  there  stirred  the  little  bee's 
emotions. 

"He  looks  so  sad,"  she  thought.  "How 
handsome  he  is,  how  superbly  he  holds  him- 
self, how  proudly  his  armor  shines !  He  never 
removes  it,  neither  by  day  nor  by  night.  He 
is  always  ready  to  rob  and  fight  and  die.  .  .  ." 

Little  Maya  quite  forgot  that  this  man  was 
her  enemy.  Ah,  how  often  the  same  thing  had 
happened  to  her — that  the  goodness  of  her 
heart  and  her  delight  in  beauty  made  her  lose 
all  sense  of  danger. 

A  golden  dart  of  light  shot  from  the  ban- 
dit's helmet.  He  must  have  turned  his  head. 

"My  God,"  whispered  Maya,  "this  is  the 
end  of  me !" 

But  the  sentinel  said  quietly: 


1 86  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"Just  come  here,  child." 

"What!"  cried  Maya.    "You  saw  me?" 

"All  the  time,  child.  You  bit  a  hole  through 
the  wall,  then  you  crept  along — crept  along — 
tucking  yourself  very  neatly  into  the  dark 
places — until  you  reached  the  spot  where 
you're  standing.  Then  you  saw  me,  and  you 
lost  heart.  Am  I  right?" 

"Yes,"  said  Maya,  "quite  right."  Her 
whole  body  shook  with  terror.  The  sentinel, 
then,  had  seen  her  the  entire  time.  She  re- 
membered having  heard  how  keen  were  the 
senses  of  these  clever  freebooters. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked  good- 
humoredly. 

Maya  still  thought  he  looked  sad.  His 
mind  seemed  to  be  far  away  and  not  to  con- 
cern itself  with  what  was  of  such  moment  to 
her. 

"I'd  like  to  get  out,"  she  answered.  "And 
I'm  not  afraid.  I  was  just  startled.  You 
looked  so  strong  and  handsome,  and  your 
armor  shone  so.  Now  I'll  fight  you." 

The  sentinel,  slightly  astonished,  leaned 
forward,  and  looked  at  Maya  and  smiled.  It 


THE  SENTINEL  187 

was  not  an  ugly  smile,  and  Maya  experienced 
an  entirely  new  feeling:  the  young  warrior's 
smile  seemed  to  exercise  a  mysterious  power 
over  her  heart. 

"No,  little  one,"  he  said  almost  tenderly, 
"you  and  I  won't  fight.  You  bees  belong  to  a 
powerful  nation,  but  man  for  man  we  hornets 
are  stronger.  To  do  single  battle  with  a  bee 
would  be  beneath  our  dignity.  If  you  like  you 
may  stay  here  a  little  while  and  chat.  But 
only  a  little  while.  Soon  I'll  have  to  wake  the 
soldiers  up;  then,  back  to  your  cell  you 
must  go." 

How  curious!  The  hornet's  lofty  friendli- 
ness disarmed  Maya  more  than  anger  or  hate 
could  have  done.  The  feeling  with  which  he 
inspired  her  was  almost  admiration.  With 
great  sad  eyes  she  looked  up  at  her  enemy, 
and  constrained,  as  always,  to  follow  the  im- 
pulses of  her  heart,  she  said : 

"I  have  always  heard  bad  things  about 
hornets.  But  you  are  not  bad.  I  can't  believe 
you're  bad." 

The  warrior  looked  at  Maya. 

"There  are  good  people  and  bad  people 


1 88  MAYA  THE  BEE 

everywhere,"  he  said,  gravely.  "But  you 
mustn't  forget  we  are  your  enemies,  and  shall 
always  remain  your  enemies." 

"Must  an  enemy  always  be  bad?"  asked 
Maya.  "Before,  when  you  were  looking 
out  into  the  moonlight,  I  forgot  that 
you  were  hard  and  dangerous.  You  seemed 
sad,  and  I  have  always  thought  that 
people  who  were  sad  couldn't  possibly  be 
wicked." 

The  sentinel  said  nothing,  and  Maya  con- 
tinued more  boldly: 

"You  are  powerful.  If  you  want  to,  you 
can  put  me  back  in  my  cell,  and  I'll  have  to 
die.  But  you  can  also  set  me  free — if  you 
want  to." 

At  this  the  warrior  drew  himself  up.  His 
armor  clanked,  and  the  arm  he  raised  shone 
in  the  moonlight. 

But  the  moonlight  was  turning  dimmer 
in  the  passageway.  Was  dawn  coming  al- 
ready? 

"You  are  right,"  he  said.  "I  can.  My  peo- 
ple and  my  queen  have  entrusted  me  with  this 
power.  My  orders  are  that  no  bee  who  has 


THE  SENTINEL  189 

set  foot  in  this  fortress  shall  leave  it  alive.  I 
shall  keep  faith  with  my  people." 

After  a  pause  he  added  softly  as  if  to  him- 
self: "I  have  learned  by  bitter  experience 
how  faithlessness  can  hurt — when  Loveydear 
forsook  me.  .  .  ." 

Little  Maya  was  overcome.  She  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  Ah,  the  same  sentiments 
moved  her,  too — love  of  her  own  kind,  loyalty 
to  her  people.  Nothing  to  be  done  here 
but  to  use  force  or  strategy.  Each  did  his 
duty,  and  yet  each  remained  an  enemy  to  the 
other. 

But  hadn't  the  sentinel  mentioned  a  name? 
Hadn't  he  said  something  about  someone's 
having  been  unfaithful  to  him?  Loveydear — 
why,  she  knew  Loveydear — the  beautiful 
dragon-fly  who  lived  at  the  lakeside  among 
the  waterlilies. 

Maya  quivered  with  excitement.  Here, 
perhaps,  was  her  salvation.  But  she  wasn't 
quite  sure  how  much  good  her  knowledge 
would  be  to  her.  So  she  said  prudently: 

"Who  is  Loveydear,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"Never  mind,  little  one.    She's  not  your  af- 


190  MAYA  THE  BEE 

fair,  and  she's  lost  to  me  forever.  I  shall  never 
find  her  again." 

"I  know  Miss  Loveydear."  Maya  forced 
herself  to  put  the  utmost  indifference  into 
her  tone.  "She  belongs  to  the  family  of 
dragon-flies  and  she's  the  loveliest  lady  of 
all." 

A  tremendous  change  came  over  the  war- 
rior. He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  where  he 
was.  He  leapt  over  to  Maya's  sides  as  if  blown 
by  a  violent  gust. 

"What!  You  know  Loveydear?  Tell  me 
where  she  is.  Tell  me,  right  away." 

"No." 

Maya  spoke  quietly  and  firmly;  she  glowed 
with  secret  delight. 

"I'll  bite  your  head  off  if  you  don't  tell." 
The  warrior  drew  dangerously  close. 

"It  will  be  bitten  off  anyhow.  Go  ahead.  I 
shan't  betray  the  lovely  dragon-fly.  She's  a 
close  friend  of  mine.  .  .  .  You  want  to  im- 
prison her." 

The  warrior  breathed  hard.  In  the  gather- 
ing dawn  Maya  could  see  that  his  forehead 


THE  SENTINEL  191 

was  pale  and  his  eyes  tragic  with  the  inner 
struggle  he  was  waging. 

"Good  God!"  he  said  wildly.  "It's  time  to 
rouse  the  soldiers. — No,  no,  little  bee,  I  don't 
want  to  harm  Loveydear.  I  love  her,  more 
dearly  than  my  life.  Tell  me  where  I  shall 
find  her  again." 

Maya  was  clever.  She  purposely  hesitated 
before  she  said: 

"But  I  love  my  life." 

"If  you  tell  me  where  Loveydear  lives" — 
Maya  could  see  that  the  sentinel  spoke  with 
difficulty  and  was  trembling  all  over — I'll  set 
you  free.  You  can  fly  wherever  you  want." 

"Will  you  keep  your  word?" 

"My  word  of  honor  as  a  brigand,"  said  the 
sentinel  proudly. 

Maya  could  scarcely  speak.  But,  if  she 
was  to  be  in  time  to  warn  her  people  of 
the  attack,  every  moment  counted.  Her  heart 
exulted. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "I  believe  you. 
Listen,  then.  Do  you  know  the  ancient  linden- 
trees  near  the  castle?  Beyond  them  lies  one 
meadow  after  another,  and  finally  comes  a  big 


192  MAYA  THE  BEE 

lake.  In  a  cove  at  the  south  end  where  the 
brook  empties  into  the  lake  the  waterlilies  lie 
spread  out  on  the  water  in  the  sunlight.  Near 
them,  in  the  rushes,  is  where  Loveydear  lives. 
You'll  find  her  there  every  day  at  noon  when 
the  sun  is  high  in  the  heavens." 

The  warrior  had  pressed  both  hands  to  his 
pale  brow.  He  seemed  to  be  having  a  des- 
perate struggle  with  himself. 

"You're  telling  the  truth,"  he  said  softly 
and  groaned,  whether  from  joy  or  pain  it  was 
impossible  to  tell.  "She  told  me  she  wanted 
to  go  where  there  were  floating  white  flowers. 
Those  must  be  the  flowers  you  speak  of.  Fly 
away,  then.  I  thank  you." 

And  actually  he  stepped  aside  from  the  en- 
trance. 

Day  was  breaking. 

"A  brigand  keeps  his  word,"  he  said. 

Not  knowing  that  Maya  had  overheard  the 
deliberations  in  the  council  chamber,  he  told 
himself  that  one  small  bee  more  or  less  made 
little  difference.  Weren't  there  hundreds  of 
others? 


THE  SENTINEL  193 

"Good-by,"  cried  Maya,  breathless  with 
haste,  and  flew  off  without  a  word  of  thanks. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  no  time  to 
spare. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  WARNING 

CFLE   Maya  summoned   every  bit  of 
strength  and  will  power  she  had  left. 
Like  a  bullet  shot  from  the  muzzle 
of  a  gun  (bees  can  fly  faster  than  most  insects) , 
she  darted  through  the  purpling  dawn  in  a 
lightning  beeline  for  the  woods,  where  she 
knew  she  would  be  safe  for  the  moment  and 
could  hide  herself  away  should  the  hornet  re- 
gret having  let  her  go  and  follow  in  pursuit. 
Gossamer  veils  hung  everywhere  over  the 
level  country,  big  drops  fell  from  the  trees  on 
the  dry  leaves  carpeting  the  ground,  and  the 
cold  in  the  woods  threatened  to  paralyze  little 

Maya's  wings.     No  ray  of  the  dawn  had  as 

194 


THE  WARNING  195 

yet  found  its  way  between  the  trees.  The  air 
was  as  hushed  as  if  the  sun  had  forgotten  the 
earth,  and  all  creatures  had  laid  themselves  to 
eternal  rest. 

Maya,  therefore,  flew  high  up  in  the  air. 
Only  one  thing  mattered — to  get  back  as 
quickly  as  strength  and  wits  permitted  to  her 
hive,  her  people,  her  endangered  home.  She 
must  warn  her  people.  They  must  prepare 
against  the  attack  which  the  terrible  brigands 
had  planned  for  that  very  morning.  Oh,  if 
only  the  nation  of  bees  had  the  chance  to  arm 
and  make  ready  its  defenses,  it  was  well  able 
to  cope  with  its  stronger  opponents.  But  a 
surprise  assault  at  rising  time!  What  if  the 
queen  and  the  soldiers  were  still  asleep? 
The  success  of  the  hornets  would  then  be 
assured.  They  would  take  prisoners  and  give 
no  quarter.  The  butchery  would  be  horrible. 

Thinking  of  the  strength  and  energy  of  her 
people,  their  readiness  to  meet  death,  their  de- 
votion to  their  queen,  the  little  bee  felt  a  great 
wrath  against  their  enemies  the  hornets.  Her 
beloved  people!  No  sacrifice  was  too  great 
for  them.  Little  Maya's  heart  swelled  with 


196  MAYA  THE  BEE 

the  ecstasy  of  self-sacrifice  and  the  dauntless 
courage  of  enthusiasm. 

It  was  not  easy  for  her  to  find  her  way  over 
the  woods.  Long  before  she  had  ceased  to 
observe  landmarks  as  did  the  other  bees,  who 
had  great  distances  to  come  back  with  their 
loads  of  nectar.  She  felt  she  had  never  flown 
as  high  before,  the  cold  hurt,  and  she  could 
scarcely  distinguish  the  objects  below. 

"What  can  I  go  by?"  she  thought.  "No  one 
thing  stands  out.  I  shan't  be  able  to  reach  my 
people  and  help  them.  Oh,  oh!  And  here  I 
had  a  chance  to  atone  for  my  desertion.  What 
shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?"— Suddenly 
some  secret  force  steered  her  in  a  certain  direc- 
tion. "What  is  pushing  and  pulling  me?  It 
must  be  homesickness  guiding  me  back  to  my 
country."  She  gave  herself  up  to  the  instinct 
and  flew  swiftly  on.  Soon,  in  the  distance,  look- 
ing like  grey  domes  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
dawn,  showed  the  mighty  lindens  of  the  castle 
park.  She  exclaimed  with  delight.  She  knew 
where  she  was.  She  dropped  closer  to  the 
earth.  In  the  meadows  on  one  side  hung  the 
luminous  wisps  of  fog,  thicker  here  than  in  the 


THE  WARNING  197 

woods.  She  thought  of  the  flower-sprites  who 
cheerfully  died  their  early  death  inside  the 
floating  veils.  That  inspired  her  anew  with 
confidence.  Her  anxiety  disappeared.  Let 
her  people  spurn  her  from  the  kingdom,  let 
the  queen  punish  her  for  desertion,  if  only  the 
bees  were  spared  this  dreadful  calamity  of  the 
hornets'  invasion. 

Close  to  the  long  stone  wall  shone  the  silver- 
fir  that  shielded  the  bee-city  against  the  west 
wind.  And  there — she  could  see  them  dis- 
tinctly now — were  the  red,  blue,  and  green 
portals  of  her  homeland.  The  stormy  pound- 
ing of  her  heart  nearly  robbed  her  of  her 
breath.  But  on  she  flew  toward  the  red  en- 
trance which  led  to  her  people  and  her  queen. 

On  the  flying-board,  two  sentinels  blocked 
the  entrance  and  laid  hands  upon  her.  Maya 
was  too  breathless  to  utter  a  syllable,  and  the 
sentinels  threatened  to  kill  her.  For  a  bee  to 
force  its  way  into  a  strange  city  without  the 
queen's  consent  is  a  capital  offense. 

"Stand  back!"  cried  one  sentinel,  thrusting 
her  roughly  away.  "What's  the  matter  with 
you !  If  you  don't  leave  this  instant,  you'll  die. 


198  MAYA  THE  BEE 

— Did  you  ever!"  He  turned  to  the  other  sen- 
tinel. "Have  you  ever  seen  the  like,  and  be- 
fore daytime  too?" 

Now  Maya  pronounced  the  password  by 
which  all  the  bees  knew  one  another.  The 
sentinels  instantly  released  her. 

"What!"  they  cried.  "You  are  one  of  us, 
and  we  don't  know  you?" 

"Let  me  get  to  the  queen,"  groaned  the  little 
bee.  "Right  away,  quick!  We  are  in  terrible 
danger." 

The  sentinels  still  hesitated.  They  couldn't 
grasp  the  situation. 

"The  queen  may  not  be  awakened  before 
sunrise,"  said  the  one. 

"Then,"  Maya  screamed,  her  voice  rising 
to  a  passionate  yell  such  as  the  sentinels  had 
probably  never  heard  from  a  bee  before,  "then 
the  queen  will  never  wake  up  alive.  Death  is 
following  at  my  heels.  Take  me  to  the  queen! 
Take  me  to  the  queen,  I  say!"  Her  voice  was 
so  wild  and  wrathful  that  the  sentinels  were 
frightened,  and  obeyed. 

The  three  hurried  together  through  the 
warm,  well-known  streets  and  corridors. 


THE  WARNING  199 

Maya  recognized  everything,  and  for  all  her 
excitement  and  the  tremendous  need  for  haste, 
her  heart  quivered  with  sweet  melancholy  at 
the  sight  of  the  dear  familiar  scenes. 

"I  am  at  home,"  she  stammered  with  pale 
lips. 

In  the  queen's  reception  room  she  almost 
broke  down.  One  of  the  sentinels  supported 
her  while  the  other  hurried  with  the  unusual 
message  into  the  private  chambers.  Both  of 
them  now  realized  that  something  momentous 
was  taking  place,  and  the  messenger  ran  as 
fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him. 

The  first  wax-generators  were  already  up. 
Here  and  there  a  little  head  thrust  itself  out 
curiously  from  the  openings.  The  news  of  the 
incident  traveled  quickly. 

Two  officers  emerged  from  the  private 
chambers.  Maya  recognized  them  instantly. 
In  solemn  silence,  without  a  word  to  her,  they 
took  their  posts,  one  on  each  side  of  the  door- 
way :  the  queen  would  soon  appear. 

She  came  without  her  court,  attended  only 
by  her  aide  and  two  ladies-in-waiting.  She 
hurried  straight  over  to  Maya.  When  she 


200  MAYA  THE  BEE 

saw  what  a  state  the  child  was  in,  the  severe 
expression  on  her  face  relaxed  a  little. 

"You  have  come  with  an  important  mes- 
sage? Who  are  you?" 

Maya  could  not  speak  at  once.  Finally  she 
managed  to  frame  two  words : 

"The  hornets  I" 

The  queen  turned  pale.  But  her  composure 
was  unshaken,  and  Maya  was  somewhat 
calmed. 

"Almighty  queen!"  she  cried.  "Forgive  me 
for  not  respecting  the  duties  I  owe  Your  Maj- 
esty. Later  I  will  tell  you  everything  I  have 
done.  I  repent.  With  my  whole  heart  I  re- 
pent.— Just  a  little  while  ago,  as  by  a  miracle, 
I  escaped  from  the  fortress  of  the  hornets,  and 
the  last  I  heard  was  that  they  were  planning 
to  attack  and  plunder  our  kingdom  at  dawn." 

The  wild  dismay  that  the  little  bee's  words 
produced  was  indescribable.  The  ladies-in- 
waiting  set  up  a  loud  wail,  the  officers  at  the 
door  turned  pale  and  made  as  if  to  dash  off 
and  sound  the  alarm,  the  aide  said:  "Good 
God!"  and  wheeled  completely  round,  because 
he  wanted  to  see  on  all  sides  at  once. 


THE  QUEEN  CAME  WITHOUT  HER  COURT,  ATTENDED  ONLY  BY  HER  AIDE  AND 
Two  LADIES-IN-WAITING 


THE  WARNING  201 

As  for  the  queen,  it  was  really  extraordinary 
to  see  with  what  composure,  what  resource- 
fulness she  received  the  dreadful  news.  She 
drew  herself  up,  and  there  was  something  in 
her  attitude  that  both  intimidated  and  inspired 
endless  confidence.  Little  Maya  was  awed. 
Never,  she  felt,  had  she  witnessed  anything  so 
superior.  It  was  like  a  great,  magnificent 
event  in  itself. 

The  queen  beckoned  the  officers  to  her  side 
and  uttered  a  few  rapid  sentences  aloud.  At 
the  end  Maya  heard: 

"I  give  you  one  minute  for  the  execution 
of  my  orders.  A  fraction  of  a  second  longer, 
and  it  will  cost  you  your  heads." 

But  the  officers  scarcely  looked  as  if  they 
needed  this  incentive.  In  less  time  than  it 
takes  to  tell  they  were  gone.  Their  instant 
readiness  was  a  joy  to  behold. 

"O  my  queen!"  said  Maya. 

The  queen  inclined  her  head  to  the  little 
bee,  who  once  again  for  a  brief  moment  saw 
her  monarch's  countenance  beam  upon  her 
gently,  lovingly. 

"You  have  our  thanks,"  she  said.  "You  have 


202  MAYA  THE  BEE 

saved  us.  No  matter  what  your  previous  con- 
duct may  have  been,  you  have  made  up  for  it 
a  thousandfold. — But  go,  rest  now,  little  girl, 
you  look  very  miserable,  and  your  hands  are 
trembling." 

"I  should  like  to  die  for  you,"  Maya  stam- 
mered, quivering. 

"Don't  worry  about  us,"  replied  the  queen. 
"Among  the  thousands  inhabiting  this  city 
there  is  not  one  who  would  hesitate  a  moment 
to  sacrifice  his  life  for  me  and  for  the  welfare 
of  the  country.  You  can  go  to  sleep  peace- 
fully." 

She  bent  over  and  kissed  the  little  bee  on 
her  forehead.  Then  she  beckoned  to  the 
ladies-in-waiting  and  bade  them  see  to  Maya's 
rest  and  comfort. 

Maya,  stirred  to  the  depths  of  her  being, 
allowed  herself  to  be  led  away.  After  this, 
life  had  nothing  lovelier  to  offer.  As  in  a 
dream  she  heard  the  loud,  clear  signals  in  the 
distance,  saw  the  high  dignitaries  of  state 
assemble  around  the  royal  chambers,  heard  a 
dull,  far-echoing  drone  that  shook  the  hive 
from  roof  to  foundation. 


THE  WARNING  203 

"The  soldiers!  Our  soldiers!"  whispered 
the  ladies-in-waiting  at  her  side. 

The  last  thing  Maya  heard  in  the  little  room 
where  her  companions  put  her  to  bed  was  the 
tramp  of  soldiers  marching  past  her  door  and 
commands  shouted  in  a  blithe,  resolute,  ring- 
ing voice.  Into  her  dreams,  echoing  as  from 
a  great  distance,  she  carried  the  ancient  song 
of  the  soldier-bees : 

Sunlight,  sunlight,  golden  sheen, 
By  your  glow  our  lives  are  lighted; 

Bless  our  labors,  bless  our  Queen, 
Let  us  always  be  united. 


T 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  BATTLE 

kingdom  of  the  bees  was  in  a 
whirl  of  excitement.  Not  even  in 
the  days  of  the  revolution  had  the 
turmoil  been  so  great.  The  hive  rumbled  and 
roared.  Every  bee  was  fired  by  a  holy  wrath, 
a  burning  ardor  to  meet  and  fight  the  ancient 
enemy  to  the  very  last  gasp.  Yet  there  was 
no  disorder  or  confusion.  Marvelous  the 
speed  with  which  the  regiments  were  mobil- 
ized, marvelous  the  way  each  soldier  knew  his 
duty  and  fell  into  his  right  place  and  took  up 
his  right  work. 

It  was  high  time.    At  the  queen's  call  for 
volunteers  to  defend  the  entrance,  a  number 


THE  BATTLE  205 

of  bees  offered  themselves,  and  of  these  several 
had  been  sent  out  to  see  if  the  enemy  was  ap- 
proaching. Two  had  now  returned — whiz- 
zing dots — and  reported  that  the  hornets  were 
drawing  near. 

An  awesome  hush  of  expectancy  fell  upon 
the  hive.  Soldiers  in  three  closed  ranks  stood 
lined  up  at  the  entrance,  proud,  pale,  solemn, 
composed.  No  one  spoke.  The  silence  of 
death  prevailed,  except  for  the  low  commands 
of  the  officers  drawing  up  the  reserves  in  the 
rear.  The  hive  seemed  to  be  fast  asleep.  The 
only  stir  came  from  the  doorway  where  about 
a  dozen  wax-generators  were  at  work  in  fever- 
ish silence  excuting  their  orders  to  narrow  the 
entrance  with  wax.  As  by  a  miracle,  two 
thick  partitions  of  wax  had  already  gone 
up,  which  even  the  strongest  hornets  could 
not  batter  down  without  great  loss  of 
time.  The  hole  had  been  reduced  by  al- 
most half. 

The  queen  took  up  an  elevated  position  in- 
side the  hive  from  which  she  was  able  to 
survey  the  battle.  Her  aides  flew  scurrying 
hither  and  thither. 


206  MAYA  THE  BEE 

The  third  messenger  returned.  He  sank 
down  exhausted  at  the  queen's  feet. 

"I  am  the  last  who  will  return,"  he  shouted 
with  all  the  strength  he  had  left.  "The  others 
have  been  killed." 

"Where  are  the  hornets?"  asked  the  queen. 

"At  the  lindens! — Listen,  listen,"  he  stam- 
mered in  mortal  terror,  "the  air  hums  with  the 
wings  of  the  giants." 

No  sound  was  heard.  It  must  have  been  the 
poor  fellow's  terrified  imagination,  he  must 
have  thought  he  was  still  being  pursued. 

"How  many  are  there?"  asked  the  queen 
sternly.  "Answer  in  a  low  voice." 

"I  counted  forty." 

Although  the  queen  was  startled  by  the  en- 
emy's numbers,  she  gave  no  sign  of  shock. 

In  a  ringing,  confident  voice  that  all  could 
hear,  she  said  : 

"Not  one  of  them  will  see  his  home  again." 

Her  words,  which  seemed  to  sound  the  en- 
emy's doom,  had  instant  effect.  Men  and  of- 
ficers alike  felt  their  courage  rise. 

But  when  in  the  quiet  of  the  morning  an 
ominous  whirring  was  heard  outside  the  hive, 


THE  BATTLE  207 

first  softly,  then  louder  and  louder,  and  the 
entrance  darkened,  and  the  whispering  voices 
of  the  hornets,  the  most  frightful  robbers  and 
murderers  in  the  insect  world,  penetrated  into 
the  hive,  then  the  faces  of  the  valiant  little 
bees  turned  pale  as  if  washed  over  by  a  drab 
light  falling  upon  their  ranks.  They  gazed  at 
one  another  with  eyes  in  which  death  sat  wait- 
ing, and  those  who  were  ranged  at  the  entrance 
knew  full  well  that  one  moment  more  and  all 
would  be  over  with  them. 

The  queen's  controlled  voice  came  clear  and 
tranquil  from  her  place  on  high : 

"Let  the  robbers  enter  one  by  one  until  I 
give  orders  to  attack.  Then  those  at  the  front 
throw  themselves  upon  the  invaders  a  hundred 
at  a  time,  and  the  ranks  behind  cover  the  en- 
trance. In  that  way  we  shall  divide  up  the 
enemy's  forces.  Remember,  you  at  the  front, 
upon  your  strength  and  endurance  and  bravery 
depends  the  fate  of  the  whole  state.  Have  no 
fear ;  in  the  dusk  the  enemy  will  not  see  right 
away  how  well  prepared  we  are,  and  he  will 
enter  unsuspecting.  .  .  ." 

She  broke  off.    There,  thrust  through  the 


208  MAYA  THE  BEE 

doorway,  was  the  head  of  the  first  brigand. 
The  feelers  played  about,  groping,  cautious, 
the  pincers  opened  and  closed.  It  was  a 
blood-curdling  sight.  Slowly  the  huge  black- 
and-gold  striped  body  with  its  strong  wings 
crept  in  after  the  head.  The  light  falling  in 
from  the  outside  drew  gleams  from  the  war- 
rior's cuirass. 

Something  like  a  quiver  went  through  the 
ranks  of  the  bees,  but  the  silence  remained 
unbroken. 

The  hornet  withdrew  quietly.  Outside  he 
could  be  heard  announcing: 

"They're  fast  asleep.  But  the  entrance  is 
half  walled  up  and  there  are  no  sentinels.  I 
do  not  know  whether  to  take  this  as  a  good 
or  a  bad  sign." 

"A  good  sign!"  rang  out.    "Forward!" 

At  that  two  giants  leapt  in  through  the  en- 
trance side  by  side;  after  them,  soundlessly, 
pressed  a  throng  of  striped,  armed,  gleaming 
warriors,  awful  to  behold.  Eight  made  their 
way  into  the  hive.  Still  no  orders  to  attack 
from  the  queen.  Was  she  dumb  with  horror, 
had  her  voice  failed  her? 


THE  BATTLE  209 

And  the  brigands,  did  they  not  see  in  the 
shadow,  to  right  and  left,  the  soldiers  drawn 
up  in  close,  glittering  ranks  ready  for  mortal 
combat  .  .  .? 

Now  at  last  came  the  order  from  on  high : 

"In  the  name  of  eternal  right,  in  the  name 
of  your  queen,  to  the  defense  of  the  realm  1" 

At  that  a  droning  roar  went  up.  Never  be- 
fore had  the  city  been  shaken  by  such  a  battle- 
cry.  It  threatened  to  burst  the  hive  in  two. 
Where,  an  instant  before,  the  hornets  had  been 
visible  singly,  there  were  now  buzzing  heaps, 
thick,  dark,  rolling  knots.  A  young  officer  had 
scarcely  awaited  the  end  of  the  queen's  words. 
He  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  attack.  He  was 
the  first  to  die.  He  had  stood  for  some  time 
ready  to  leap  all  a-quiver  with  eagerness  for 
battle,  and  at  the  first  sound  of  the  order  he 
rushed  forward  right  into  the  clutches  of  the 
foremost  brigand.  His  delicately  fine-pointed 
sting  found  its  way  between  the  head  and  up- 
per breast-ring  of  his  opponent;  he  heard  the 
hornet  give  a  yell  of  rage,  saw  him  double  up 
into  a  glittering,  gold-black  ball.  Then  the 
bandit's  fearful  sting  leapt  out  and  pierced 


zio  MAYA  THE  BEE 

between  the  young  officer's  breast-rings  right 
into  his  heart;  and  dying  the  bee  felt  himself 
and  his  mortally  wounded  enemy  sink  under  a 
cloud  of  storming  bees.  His  brave  death  in- 
spired them  all  with  the  wild  rapture  that 
comes  from  utter  willingness  to  die  for  a  noble 
cause.  Fearful  was  their  attack  upon  the  in- 
vaders. The  hornets  were  sore  pressed. 

But  the  hornets  are  an  old  race  of  robbers, 
trained  to  warfare.  Pillage  and  murder  have 
long  been  their  gruesome  profession.  Though 
the  initial  assault  of  the  bees  had  confused  and 
divided  them,  yet  the  damage  was  not  so  great 
as  might  have  seemed  at  first.  For  the  bees' 
stings  did  not  penetrate  their  breastplates,  and 
their  strength  and  gigantic  size  gave  them  an 
advantage  of  which  they  were  well  aware. 
Their  sharp,  buzzing  battle-cry  rose  high 
above  the  battle-cry  of  the  bees.  It  is  a  sound 
that  fills  all  creatures  with  horror,  even  human 
beings,  who  dread  this  danger  signal,  and  are 
careful  not  to  enter  into  conflict  with  hornets 
unprotected. 

Those  of  the  assailants  who  had  already 
penetrated  into  the  hive  quickly  realized  that 


THE  BATTLE  211 

they  must  make  their  way  still  deeper  inward 
if  they  were  not  to  block  up  the  entrance  to 
their  comrades  outside.  And  so  the  struggling 
knots  rolled  farther  and  farther  down  the  dark 
streets  and  corridors.  How  right  the  queen 
had  been  in  her  tactics!  No  sooner  was  a  bit 
of  space  at  the  entrance  cleared  than  the  ranks 
in  the  rear  leapt  forward  to  its  defense.  It 
was  an  old  strategy,  and  a  dreadful  one  for  the 
enemy.  When  a  hornet  at  the  entrance  gave 
signs  of  exhaustion,  the  bees  shammed  the 
same,  and  let  him  crawl  in;  but  the  instant  the 
one  behind  showed  his  head  a  great  swarm  of 
fresh  soldiers  dashed  up  to  defend  the  appar- 
ently unprotected  entrance,  while  the  invader 
who  had  gone  on  ahead  would  find  himself, 
already  wearied,  suddenly  confronted  by  glit- 
tering ranks  of  soldier-bees  who  had  not  yet 
stirred  a  finger  in  battle.  Generally  he  suc- 
cumbed to  their  superior  numbers  at  the  very 
first  attack. 

Now  the  groans  of  the  wounded  and  the 
shrieks  of  the  dying  mingled  in  wild  agony 
with  the  fierce  battle-cries.  The  hornets' 
stings  worked  fearful  havoc  among  the  bees. 


212  MAYA  THE  BEE 

The  rolling  knots  left  tracks  of  dead  bodies  in 
their  wake.  The  hornets,  whose  retreat  had 
been  cut  off,  realizing  that  they  would  never 
see  the  light  of  day  again,  fought  the  fight  of 
despair.  Yet,  slowly,  one  by  one,  they  suc- 
cumbed. There  was  one  great  thing  against 
them.  Though  their  strength  was  inexhaust- 
ible, not  so  the  poison  of  their  sting.  After  a 
time  their  sting  lost  its  virulence,  and  the 
wounded  bees,  knowing  they'd  recover,  fought 
in  the  consciousness  of  certain  victory. 
To  this  was  added  the  grief  of  the  bees 
for  their  dead;  it  gave  them  the  power  of 
divine  wrath. 

Gradually  the  din  subsided.  The  loud  calls 
of  the  hornets  on  the  outside  met  with  no  re- 
sponse from  the  invaders  within. 

"They  are  all  dead,"  said  the  leader  of  the 
hornets  grimly,  and  summoned  the  combatants 
back  from  the  entrance.  Their  numbers  had 
melted  down  to  half. 

"We  have  been  betrayed,"  said  the  leader. 
"The  bees  were  prepared." 

The  hornets  were  assembled  on  the  silver- 
fir.  It  had  grown  lighter,  and  the  red  of  dawn 


THE  BATTLE  213 

tinged  the  tops  of  the  linden-trees.  The  birds 
began  to  sing.  The  dew  fell.  Pale  and  quiv- 
ering with  rage  of  battle,  the  warriors  stood 
around  their  leader,  who  was  waging  an  awful 
inward  struggle.  Should  he  yield  to  prudence 
or  to  his  lust  for  pillage?  The  former  pre- 
vailed. There  was  no  use  anyway.  His  whole 
tribe  was  in  danger  of  destruction.  Grudg- 
ingly, in  a  shudder  of  thwarted  ambition,  he 
determined  to  send  a  messenger  to  the  bees  to 
sue  for  the  return  of  the  prisoners. 

He  chose  his  cleverest  officer  and  called 
upon  him  by  name. 

A  depressed  silence  instead  of  an  answer. 
The  officer  was  among  those  who  had  been 
cut  off. 

The  leader,  overcome  now  by  mortal  dread 
lest  those  who  had  entered  would  never  return, 
quickly  chose  another  officer.  The  raging  and 
roaring  in  the  beehive  could  be  heard  in  the 
distance. 

"Be  quick!"  he  cried,  laying  the  white  petal 
of  a  jasmine  in  the  messenger's  hand,  "or  the 
human  beings  will  soon  come  and  we  shall  be 
lost.  Tell  the  bees  we  will  go  away  and  leave 


214  MAYA  THE  BEE 

them  in  peace  forever  if  they  will  deliver  up 
the  prisoners." 

The  messenger  rushed  off.  At  the  entrance 
he  waved  his  white  signal  and  alighted  on  the 
flying-board. 

The  queen-bee  was  immediately  informed 
that  an  emissary  was  outside  who  wanted  to 
make  terms,  and  she  sent  her  aide  to  parley 
with  him.  When  he  returned  with  his  report 
she  sent  back  this  reply: 

"We  will  deliver  up  the  dead  if  you  want  to 
take  them  away.  There  are  no  prisoners.  All 
of  your  people  who  invaded  our  territory  are 
dead.  Your  promise  never  to  return  we  do  not 
believe.  You  may  come  again,  whenever  you 
wish.  You  will  fare  no  better  than  you  did 
to-day.  And  if  you  want  to  go  on  with  the 
battle  we  are  ready  to  fight  to  the  last  bee." 

The  leader  of  the  hornets  turned  pale  when 
this  message  was  delivered  to  him.  He 
clenched  his  fists,  he  fought  with  himself. 
Only  too  gladly  would  he  have  yielded  to  the 
wishes  of  his  warriors  who  clamored  for  re- 
venge. Reason  prevailed. 

"We  •will  come  again,"  he  hissed.     "How 


THE  BATTLE  215 

could  this  thing  have  happened  to  us?  Are  we 
not  a  more  powerful  people  than  the  bees? 
Every  campaign  of  mine  so  far  has  been  suc- 
cessful and  has  only  added  to  our  glory.  How 
can  I  face  the  queen  after  this  defeat?"  In  a 
quiver  of  fury  he  cried  again:  "How  could 
this  thing  have  happened  to  us?  There  must 
be  treachery  somewhere." 

An  older  hornet  known  as  a  friend  of  the 
queen's  here  took  up  the  word. 

"It  is  true,  we  are  a  more  powerful  race, 
but  the  bees  are  a  unified  nation,  and  unflinch- 
ingly loyal  to  their  people  and  their  state. 
That  is  a  great  source  of  strength;  it  makes 
them  irresistible.  Not  one  of  them  would 
turn  traitor;  each  without  thought  of  self 
serves  the  weal  of  all." 

The  leader  scarcely  listened. 

"My  day  is  coming,"  he  hissed.  "What  care 
I  for  the  wisdom  of  these  bourgeois!  I  am  a 
brigand  and  will  die  a  brigand. — But  to  keep 
up  the  battle  now  would  be  madness.  What 
good  would  it  do  us  if  we  destroyed  the  whole 
hive,  and  none  of  us  came  back  alive?"  Turn- 
ing to  the  messenger,  he  cried : 


216  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"Give  us  back  our  dead.  We  will  with- 
draw." 

A  dead  silence  fell.  The  messenger  flew 
off. 

"We  must  be  prepared  for  a  fresh  piece  of 
trickery,  though  I  don't  think  the  hornets  are 
in  a  righting  mood  at  present,"  said  the  queen 
bee  when  she  heard  the  hornets'  decision. 
She  gave  orders  for  the  rear-guard,  wax-gen- 
erators, and  honey-carriers  to  remove  the  dead 
from  the  city  while  two  fresh  regiments 
guarded  the  entrance. 

Her  orders  were  carried  out.  Over  moun- 
tains of  the  dead  one  brigand's  body  after 
another  was  dragged  to  the  entrance  and 
thrown  to  the  ground  outside. 

In  gloomy  silence  the  troop  of  hornets 
waited  on  the  silver-fir  and  saw  the  corpses  of 
their  fallen  warriors  drop  one  by  one  to  the 
earth. 

The  sun  arose  upon  a  scene  of  endless  des- 
olation. Twenty-one  slain,  who  had  died  a 
glorious  death,  made  a  heap  in  the  grass  under 
the  city  of  the  bees.  Not  a  drop  of  honey,  not 
a  single  prisoner  had  been  taken  by  the  enemy. 


THE  BATTLE  217 

The  hornets  picked  up  their  dead  and  flew 
away,  the  battle  was  over,  the  bees  had  con- 
quered. 

But  at  what  a  cost!  Everywhere  lay  fallen 
bodies,  in  the  streets  and  corridors,  in  the  dim 
places  before  the  brooders  and  honey-cup- 
boards. Sad  was  the  work  in  the  hive  on  that 
lovely  morning  of  summer  sunshine  and 
scented  blossoms.  The  dead  had  to  be  dis- 
posed of,  the  wounded  had  to  be  bandaged  and 
nursed.  But  before  the  hour  of  noon  had 
struck,  the  regular  tasks  were  begun;  for  the 
bees  neither  celebrated  their  victory  nor  spent 
time  mourning  their  dead.  Each  bee  carried 
his  pride  and  his  grief  locked  quietly  in  his 
breast  and  went  about  his  work. 


I 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  QUEEN'S  FRIEND 

noise  of  battle  awoke  Maya  out 
of  a  brief  sleep.  She  jumped  up  and 
straightway  wanted  to  dash  out  to 
help  defend  the  city,  but  soon  realized  that 
she  was  too  weak  to  be  of  any  help. 

A  group  of  struggling  combatants  came 
rolling  toward  her.  One  of  them  was  a  strong 
young  hornet,  an  officer,  Maya  judged  by  his 
badge,  who  was  defending  himself  unaided 
against  an  overwhelming  number  of  bees.  The 
struggling  knot  drew  nearer.  To  Maya's  hor- 
ror it  left  one  dead  bee  after  another  in  its 
wake.  But  numbers  finally  told  against  the 

giant:  whole  clusters  of  bees,   ready  to  die 

218 


THE  QUEEN'S  FRIEND        219 

rather  than  let  go,  hung  to  his  arms  and  legs 
and  feelers,  and  their  stings  were  beginning  to 
pierce  between  the  rings  of  his  breast.  Maya 
saw  him  drop  down  exhausted.  Without  cry 
or  complaint,  fighting  to  the  very  end,  neither 
suing  for  mercy  nor  reviling  his  opponents,  he 
went  down  to  his  brigand's  death. 

The  bees  left  him  and  hurried  back  to  the 
entrance  to  throw  themselves  anew  into  the 
conflict. 

Maya's  heart  was  beating  stormily.  She 
slipped  over  to  the  hornet.  He  lay  curled  up  in 
the  twilight,  still  breathing.  She  counted  about 
twenty  stings,  most  of  them  in  the  fore  part  of 
his  body,  leaving  his  golden  armor  quite  whole 
and  sound.  Seeing  he  was  still  alive,  she  hur- 
ried away  to  bring  water  and  honey — to  cheer 
the  dying  man,  she  thought.  But  he  shook  his 
head  and  waived  her  off  with  his  hand. 

"I  take  what  I  want,"  he  said  proudly.  "I 
don't  care  for  gifts." 

"Oh,"  said  Maya,  "I  only  thought  you 
might  be  thirsty." 

The  young  officer  smiled  at  her,  then  said, 
not  sadly,  but  with  a  strange  earnestness : 


220  MAYA  THE  BEE 

"I  must  die." 

The  little  bee  could  not  reply.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  seemed  to  comprehend 
what  it  meant  to  have  to  die ;  and  death  seemed 
much  closer  when  someone  else  was  about  to 
die  than  when  her  own  life  had  been  imper- 
iled in  the  spider's  web. 

"If  there  were  only  something  I  could  do," 
she  said,  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  dying  hornet  made  no  answer.  He 
opened  his  eyes  once  again  and  heaved  a  deep 
breath — for  the  last  time.  Half  an  hour  later 
he  was  thrown  down  into  the  grass  outside  the 
hive  along  with  his  dead  comrades. 

Little  Maya  never  forgot  what  she  had 
learned  from  this  brief  farewell.  She  knew 
now  for  all  time  that  her  enemies  were  beings 
like  herself,  loving  life  as  she  did  and  having 
to  die  a  hard  death  without  succor.  She 
thought  of  the  flower  sprite  who  had  told  her 
of  his  rebirth  when  Nature  sent  forth  her  blos- 
soms again  in  the  spring;  and  she  longed  to 
know  whether  the  other  creatures  would,  like 
the  sprite,  come  back  to  the  light  of  life  after 
they  had  died  the  death  of  the  earth. 


THE  QUEEN'S  FRIEND         221 

"I  will  believe  it  is  so,"  she  said  softly. 

A  messenger  now  came  and  summoned  her 
to  the  queen's  presence.  She  found  the  full 
court  assembled  in  the  royal  reception  room. 
Her  legs  shook,  she  scarcely  dared  to  raise  her 
eyes  before  her  monarch  and  so  many  dig- 
nitaries. A  number  of  the  officers  of  the 
queen's  staff  were  missing,  and  the  gathering 
was  unusually  solemn.  Yet  a  gleam  of  exalta- 
tion seemed  to  light  every  brow — as  if  the  con- 
sciousness of  triumph  and  new  glory  won  en- 
circled everyone  like  an  invisible  halo. 

The  queen  arose,  made  her  way  unattended 
through  the  assemblage,  went  up  to  little 
Maya  and  took  her  in  her  arms. 

This  Maya  had  never  expected,  not  this. 
The  measure  of  her  joy  was  full  to  overflow- 
ing; she  broke  down  and  wept. 

The  bees  were  deeply  stirred.  There  was 
not  one  among  them  who  did  not  share  Maya's 
happiness,  who  was  not  deeply  grateful  for  the 
little  bee's  valiant  deed. 

Maya  now  had  to  tell  her  whole  story. 
Everybody  wanted  to  know  how  she  had 
learned  of  the  hornets'  plans  and  how  she  had 


222  MAYA  THE  BEE 

succeeded  in  breaking  out  of  the  awful  prison 
from  which  no  bee  had  ever  before  escaped. 

So  Maya  told  of  all  the  remarkable  things 
she  had  seen  and  heard,  of  Miss  Loveydear 
with  the  glittering  wings,  of  the  grasshopper, 
of  Thekla  the  spider,  of  Puck,  and  of  how 
splendidly  Bobbie  had  come  to  her  rescue. 
When  she  told  of  the  sprite  and  the  human  be- 
ings, it  was  so  quiet  in  the  hall  that  you  could 
hear  the  generators  in  the  back  of  the  hive 
kneading  the  wax. 

"Ah,"  said  the  queen,  "who'd  have  thought 
the  sprites  were  so  lovely?"  She  smiled  to 
herself  with  a  look  of  melancholy  and  longing, 
as  people  will  who  long  for  beauty. 

And  all  the  dignitaries  smiled  the  same 
smile. 

"How  did  the  song  of  the  sprite  go?"  she 
asked.  "Say  it  again.  I'd  like  to  learn  it  by 
heart." 

Maya  repeated  the  song  of  the  sprite. 

My  soul  is  that  which  breathes  anew 
From  all  of  loveliness  and  grace; 
And  as  it  flows  from  God's  own  face, 
It  flows  from  his  creations,  too. 


THE  QUEEN'S  FRIEND        223 

There  was  silence  for  a  while.  The  only 
sound  was  a  restrained  sobbing  in  the  back  of 
the  hall — probably  someone  thinking  of  a 
friend  who  had  been  killed. 

Maya  went  on  with  her  story.  When  she 
came  to  the  hornets,  the  bees'  eyes  darkened 
and  widened.  Each  imagined  himself  in  the 
situation  in  which  one  of  their  number  had 
been,  and  quivered,  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Awful,"  said  the  queen,  "perfectly 
awful.  .  .  ." 

The  dignitaries  murmured  something  to  the 
same  effect. 

"And  so,"  Maya  ended,  "I  reached  home. 
And  I  sue  for  your  Majesty's  pardon — a  thou- 
sand times." 

Oh,  no  one  bore  the  little  bee  any  ill  will 
for  having  run  away  from  the  hive.  You  may 
imagine  they  did  not. 

The  queen  put  her  arm  round  Maya's  neck. 

"You  did  not  forget  your  home  and  your 
people,"  she  said  kindly.  "In  your  heart  you 
were  loyal.  So  we  will  be  loyal  to  you. 
Henceforth  you  shall  stay  by  my  side  and  help 
me  conduct  the  affairs  of  state.  In  that  way, 


224 


MAYA  THE  BEE 


I  think,  your  experiences,  all  the  things  you 
have  learned,  will  be  made  to  serve  the  great- 
est good  of  your  people  and  your  country." 

Cheers  of  approval  greeted  the  queen's 
words. 

So  ends  the  story  of  the  adventures  of  Maya 
the  bee.  They  say  her  work  contributed 
greatly  to  the  good  and  welfare  of  the  nation, 
and  she  came  to  be  highly  respected  and  loved 
by  her  people.  Sometimes  on  quiet  evenings 
she  went  for  a  brief  hour's  conversation  to 
Cassandra's  peaceful  little  room,  where  the 
ancient  dame  lived  now  on  pension  honey. 
There  Maya  told  the  young  bees,  who  listened 
to  her  eagerly,  stories  of  the  adventures  which 
we  have  lived  through  with  her. 


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